


fear in the afternoon

by entitled



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Dementors, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Good Dudley Dursley, Good Petunia Dursley, Second War with Voldemort, Single Parent Petunia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-14 13:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14136573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entitled/pseuds/entitled
Summary: what if petunia had not necessarily been less afraid but had been more determined? what if she'd chosen to love both her boys? what if she'd chosen to love herself? what if lily was allowed to live on in petunia's life, in harry's life, in dudley's life?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i just want my boy to be happy sometimes  
> (only sometimes lol)

**Fear in the Afternoon**

 

Watched and sleeping all the sodden afternoon,

Listened until the creeping song began to moan

And sleeping stealthy sang along but did not mean.

 

And the slow blinds so drawn against the sun,

Or the sly yawn that signifies one's really sane,

And the clouds that fawn on sky and gather soon.

 

All this blots out the ancient ruined wall,

The twilight flute, the incense, and the Druid wail, 

And this is NOW, and all, though final, still is well.

 

 -- Clellon Holmes

 

* * *

 

 

It begins a reasonably normal morning. Dudley has slept through the night for the first time since they brought him home from the hospital. This is not necessarily normal, in the sense that it has not happened before in the Dursley household. But it is not abnormal as this is perfectly normal behaviour for a toddler, if perhaps a little later than one might expect. Petunia tightens her robe against the briskness of an early autumn morning and ducks out to collect the milk bottles. There is a baby that is not her baby on the front step. So she screams. Of course she screams; there is a baby on the front step.

How long has the baby been out there? Is it dead or alive? She scoops the infant up and it barely stirs. Her heart thuds heavily with relief at the slight movement though. Maybe it's hypothermic. There's a letter swaddled with the baby and it crinkles when she holds the child to her chest. Its breath flutters gentle against her cheek. She heads back inside where none of the very perfectly normal neighbours can see her with someone else's baby or worse, associate her with the piercing scream. She perches the infant on the settee, blocking it on either side with decorative cushions so it cannot roll. In the light of the living area she notices a huge pale scar stretching over the baby's forehead, like a negative cloud-to-ground lightning strike. Who could have hurt a baby like this? And from the look of the scar, so long ago? The baby must have been barely a newborn when someone inflicted such a horrific wound, surely. Petunia pats the baby's cheek gently and moves into the dining nook. The baby's eyes remain closed, its little rosebud mouth chewing on nothing.

Dudley Dursley is babbling in his highchair, Vernon Dursley has already left for work, Petunia Dursley sits down at the dining table and opens an envelope containing horribly familiar parchment.

Lily Evans Potter, youngest of the Evans girls, surprise witch of the family, Petunia's sister, is dead. Lily is dead. Lily's husband is dead. Lily is dead. Their son is sleeping on Petunia's couch after the monster that killed her sister and brother-in-law attempted to kill him too. Lily is dead. Petunia moves the letter away from herself so she doesn't wet it while she weeps. Lily is dead. Dudley smacks his chubby hands against the table of his highchair, confused at his mother's awful gasping sounds. Lily is dead. 

When she finally lifts her face from her hands to shush Dudley and pass him another biscuit to chew on, she finds herself angry. It wasn't enough that they had to take her sister away for months upon months every year. It wasn't enough that Petunia couldn't come with her, to protect her baby sister like she had always done. It wasn't enough for them to have Lily, they had to go and kill her too. And then, of all things, leave Lily's infant son out in the fucking cold like he was a bottle of milk. Petunia counts the months. Who swaddles a fucking _fourteen-month-old?_   Petunia hurries back to the settee to free her nephew of his ridiculous wrappings. His head still smells like milk. Lily would have still been alive the last time the boy was fed. Petunia sobs, choking on her grief. She'll have to get Harry some breakfast. 

They have a quiet day, the three of them. When Harry (Harry Potter, Harry Evans, Harry Evans-Potter?), wakes with a soft hiccup, she introduces Dudley to him. The two clumsily play with blocks for hours together. Dudley speaks in a language of gestures, sounds, and poorly pronounced singular words while Harry, to Petunia's surprise, has a large grasp on a rather sophisticated vocabulary already. Petunia cries discreetly all day. They have pumpkin soup for lunch. Petunia keeps the curtains drawn. 

When Vernon arrives home, he's so preoccupied with telling Petunia about his day that it takes him several minutes to notice that the infant in his wife's lap isn't actually his son. Despite the fact that Dudley is a pale, fair-haired cherub of a child and Harry is almost half his size and brown. 

"What is  _that_?" He shouts at Harry and Petunia.

"He's James and Lily's son, Vernon." Petunia's voice cracks on her sister's name. "They... they died last night."

"Well we can't keep it!" Vernon blusters, his face reddening. 

"Harry." Petunia snarls. Not it. Harry. "I'm his only family. We're his only family."

"I am Harry!" Harry agrees.

"What if he's like them?" 

"What if he isn't?" 

"I don't want that child in my house!" Vernon actually stomps. Like Dudley does when he's frustrated with his inability to communicate effectively his wants and needs. Because Dudley is a small child. Petunia could laugh. What would Lily do right now? She'd probably charm something harmless and funny and scare the living shit out of Vernon. Much as it annoyed an adolescent Petunia, in this moment the adult Petunia wouldn't mind a few of her sister's magic tricks. 

"I don't care if you don't want Harry to be yours, he most certainly will be _mine_." Petunia snaps, stroking Harry's hair gently to tell him she's not angry at him, no not at all dear boy.

"Would you look at him? He will be a stain on this very household." Vernon splutters, chest swelling in fury. Harry watches his uncle who doesn't want to be his uncle. Petunia wishes her husband wouldn't say such things in front of the child.

"You say another vile word about this boy and I will make you wish you'd never met me." She says. Vernon raises a meaty hand, over Harry's head, over Petunia's face. Petunia stands suddenly, tucking the child behind her on the settee, Harry makes a little noise of surprise that lodges itself in her heart. "Touch me, Vernon, I fucking  _dare_   _you."_

"Bang!" Shouts Dudley as he comes running into the room, clutching two chunky wooden soldiers. He holds one out to Harry. "Bang?"

"Bang." Harry smiles and Lily smiles out of his face.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, before Vernon leaves for work, Petunia gets up and cooks him his breakfast just as she has since they first moved in together. Two fried eggs, two slices of toast with marmalade and butter. A mug of strong black tea with three sugars. The newspaper unfolded and waiting on the table at the spot where her husband sits. 

Harry and Dudley shared a crib last night. Petunia couldn't think of anything else to do and there was more than enough room in there for the both of them. She poked her head into the nursery early in the grey part of the morning and they were both still fast asleep, toe-to-toe in their pyjamas. Harry's a cloud motif set of Dudley's and Dudley's a pale blue as close to matching as the two boys could get. 

Petunia sits at the table in silence while Vernon eats breakfast. He doesn't thank her for it. He picks up his briefcase and makes his way to the hallway. Petunia follows him quietly, in her slippers and robe. 

"Now," Vernon turns and sneers at her, sticking a finger in her face. "No funny business, I'm telling you."

Petunia says nothing as she resists the urge to lunge forward and bite his finger. She imagines crushing the knuckle between her teeth. Snapping at him like a feral animal protecting her young. Vernon leaves.

Petunia Dursley prepares herself a quick cup of tea, white with no sugar, and then begins to pack. The only things she brings with her are those belonging to Petunia Evans, from before she married Vernon and became a different woman. She gives the boys breakfast when they wake and then they leave the house together. The three of them leave Vernon Dursley behind. They leave Petunia Dursley behind. Petunia Evans, Dudley Evans, and Harry Evans depart Surrey.

 

* * *

 

The last trace _they_ have of Petunia Dursley is when she travelled to Godric’s Hollow to bury her family. A few magical faces linger around the town, in the graveyard, across from the Potter Cottage, but none approach her. No children belonging to Petunia Dursley are seen anywhere that day.

Despite the strong enchantments now around the building specifically to hide it away from mundane eyes, Petunia Dursley sees the house exactly as it is. The Muggle woman steps through the dark gaping hole of what used to be a welcoming front door. There is a black smell to everything. She can picture Lily throwing it open and greeting friends with a laugh, casting her face to the sky with joy, flipping her dark red hair as she led people into the house. Petunia sees the magical linework hovering where James Potter has died. Right where people would have taken their shoes off. Petunia takes in the living room, untouched, with its soft squishy sofas so different from the prim settees of her home in Surrey. Of the house in Surrey.

There are photos everywhere. They grin and laugh and dance inside their frames. There are photos of Harry from birth to what appears to be his first birthday, not three months ago. There are photos of Lily and her school friends, uniformed, casual, studying, flying, gathered together in brilliant clusters of light. There are photos of Petunia and Lily when they were young, somehow enchanted so they, too, moved. Petunia and Lily in the garden, both wearing watering cans for hats. Petunia and Lily on holiday in France, wearing matching pinafores and wide smiles. As she watches, the tiny versions of herself and her sister - both long dead - swing gently side to side, arms linked, as though the girls were waiting for the flash so they could run off again. Petunia and Lily and Severus, awkwardly in the same frame, none making eye contact with anyone or anything. Petunia on her first day of high school, shifting from one foot to the other. Lily and Petunia in Diagon Alley, shopping for Lily's very first magical supplies. Lily bounces slightly and Petunia is utterly still, as though her body were the only non-magicked portion of the magical photograph. Jealousy is a familiar feeling for Petunia but today she pushes it away. There's nothing to be jealous of this ravaged home. 

Petunia leaves the living living room and goes and stands in the kitchen of the house for a while. It’s yellow and even the weak light filtering in on an overcast morning cannot dim the glow in the room. Harry’s little finger paintings cover the fridge. Some of them shift like snakes across the paper. There’s a single plate on the countertop and crumbs in the sink and a racing broom by the back door. Petunia takes the stairs up, though the bannister is just an ashy mess on the steps. She doesn’t spend long in James and Lily's bedroom. It smells too much like her sister, all green willow and faint woodsmoke and parchment and ink and love and light. In Harry’s nursery, where the walls are also yellow, Petunia finds the mark of her sister’s body. Glowing lines suspend her death in front of her baby’s crib. Petunia clutches the cot railing and cries over Lily’s shadow.

The bodies are at the local morgue. Petunia gathers all the photos and drawings and little mementos she can fit into the backpack she brought with her. Then she leaves the house and walks to find her little sister. 

Petunia and a Muggle priest lower Lily and James into the cold damp earth.

When they try to track Petunia Dursley using a ring she left behind on Privet Drive, they find nothing. No one. When they try to find Harry Potter, they can't. They don't worry too much, yet, because if they can't find him then nobody else can either. Probably.

 

* * *

 

Harry and Dudley always have a shared birthday party. They each get separate presents, of course, but Petunia can only afford one cake, one set of fun food that costs significantly more (and is far less nutritionally valuable!) than the sensible food she usually purchases. She's still married to Vernon, legally, but she and the boys are living in the County Durham now. She's not spoken to the man since she walked out of his front door three years ago, and he's not been able to find her since. They move about every year, though they've stuck to the North East. 

This year, Harry gets a dark green beanie and Dudley gets a pair of cobalt blue gloves. Both boys cheer at the gifts and happily blow out the birthday candles on their cake together. Dudley's breath involves a little more saliva than perhaps necessary but none of the three of them mind as Petunia slices up the cake and they dig in. 

Petunia Evans has become Rose Evan, widowed mother-of-two. She gets some looks at how different Harry looks compared to her and Dudley, but she's perfected her acerbic tongue and hard gaze over the years. It deters most. She works at the local hospital, mopping the floors and cleaning the bathrooms. The more highly-trained staff clean the theatre rooms and deal with surgical hygiene. It's shitty shift work, but one of the other cleaners is also a single parent with a daughter and they coordinate together to juggle the childcare. 

Her boys are her pride and her joy. Next year, when they're due to start school she'll pull from her cleaning job and start homeschooling them. It'll keep them all safer, Petunia thinks. Harry's certain abilities would be sure to draw attention anywhere else, and she can't bear the thought of either child being picked on like she'd been  for being prudish and shrill or like Lily had been for being freaky and weird. 

 

* * *

 

Petunia keeps them safe for many years. She knows she's not the smartest woman but she selects good textbooks and exercises for the boys to learn from. She teaches them, they teach each other, they all three learn together. 

She hears Lily in her head sometimes, usually laughing at something the boys are doing, or when Harry’s magic flashes out in surprising ways. Petunia cried the first time she saw him do a magic trick.

They’d been living in an old block of heinously beige brick flats that all looked out on a central garden. The garden itself wasn’t much to speak of, just some grass and iceberg roses. But the fresh air did the boys good. Dudley had accidentally crushed a flower in his chubby little fist and was crying. Harry got a funny look on his face that usually said he needed the bathroom. As Petunia watched and Dudley wailed, the flower’s bruised petals righted themselves until a plump, unblemished white rose sat in front of them.

“Oh, just like your mother,” Petunia had murmured gently, stroking Harry’s head before ushering the boys swiftly back inside, desperately hoping none of the perfectly normal neighbours had been looking out of their windows right at that moment.

Dudley had been thrilled by Harry’s little trick. Lily whispered in the back of Petunia’s mind, _Remember when you called me a freak?_ Petunia busied herself with preparing afternoon tea for the boys, slicing up some carrots to go with a bit of hummus. She wept in the kitchen while the boys ate and played inside. Lily had been one for charming flowers, too.  _Remember when I made your corsage for that dance with what's-his-name?_  

As he gets older, Harry’s magic tricks only happen more frequently. They become more significant than repairing a single flower. Petunia feels the discomfort in her chest that had once been a jealousy that she labelled fear when she was young. When her sister shone brighter than anything else in Cokeworth. Now, it actually is fear. Not of the magic itself, because Harry has never once hurt her, but of _them._  The magical world got her sister and brother-in-law killed. Even if the voice in Petunia’s head disagrees sharply. Petunia lost her sister because of _them_ and their stupid goddamn war. She won’t lose her nephew.

The beige brick flat becomes too small for them around the time Petunia starts homeschooling the boys. That birthday, Harry accidentally sets off tiny fireworks above his and Dudley’s birthday cake. The three of them cheer until the sparks die down and then they cut up the cake. It's chocolate, much to the boys' utter delight. 

At the end of the year they move to the outskirts of Darlington, into a proper little house. Petunia Evans becomes Wendy Evan. The government pays her to stay at home and teach her boys. They have a real garden out the back. Petunia and Harry spend their free time filling it with living things while Dudley races around with a ball. Eventually Dudley can usually convince Harry to join him, and the two boys will run around the garden like two perfectly normal boys, one more careful of the flowers than the other. That Christmas both of them get a pair of sturdy boots in their respective sizes. Petunia receives terribly bundled and shockingly wrapped piles of drawings from each boy. She puts them all on the fridge and if some of Harry’s lines wriggle on the paper she makes no comment.

 

* * *

 

When Harry accidentally turns an inanimate garden gnome into an animate garden gnome, Petunia decides to take action. Firstly, the gnome moves inside, because it is not perfectly normal to have an animate gnome running around one’s garden. Secondly, Dudley names the gnome Gnomey. It, unfortunately, catches on and the creature starts only responding to its... very descriptive name. Thirdly, Petunia realises that the more magic Harry wields, the more noticeable they will become. She doesn't know how  _they_ monitor such things, but she will not allow herself to underestimate these people. Not the normal ones, like Lily and James and their friends, but those who manoeuvred a pair of recently graduated, new parents (barely out of childhood themselves), to their deaths. They are the ones Petunia worries about. They wouldn't think anything of Harry's life if it gave them an advantage in their little war.

The rules at home become more defined. The boys listen as carefully as they can, within the limits of their attention spans, to Petunia's instructions.

Be as strange as you like inside the house (with the curtains drawn), but be perfectly normal when outside the house.

Magic inside the house, no magic outside the house.

Run as much as you want outside the house, but walk at a normal pace inside the house, thank you. Same goes for inside voices. 

Take your shoes off at the door.

Please and thank you are always required.

Teeth must be brushed twice a day (Petunia can afford toothpaste but she definitely cannot afford dental surgery).

 

* * *

 

Going through Lily’s old letters feels wrong. Petunia doesn’t read them - she already knows who she’s looking for. Besides, she can only look at her sister’s handwriting for so long before her eyes start swimming with dark spots and she feels lightheaded.

James and Lily’s secret location was revealed by a filthy traitor. Petunia’s secret location is revealed by herself.

 

* * *

 

 

When Remus Lupin arrives at a small cottage outside Darlington, he is greeted at knifepoint. A tall, thin Muggle woman clutches the weapon in a trembling hand.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Despite the woman’s obvious fear, her voice is even.

“You can never know that, Petunia.” Remus responds, hands still tucked in his pocket. She appears to agree with him.

“You can meet Harry.” She steps back slightly from the door. “But I want your wand and I’ll keep the knife for now.”

The woman is clever if she considers a wand to be the weapon that it absolutely could become. "Very reasonable." Remus Lupin agrees to both of Petunia Evans’ terms and is invited into the house and offered tea. Black, one sugar.

Remus crumbles to his knees when he sees Harry. From behind the boy looks just like James, all brown skin and pointy elbows and curling hair spilling in every direction. When the boy turns Remus stops breathing because it’s as though Lily Evans is looking right at him once again. 

“You have your mother’s eyes.” Remus says to Harry after introductions have been made. Dudley has also been introduced but Petunia has let him know that Remus is here specifically to help Harry. Remus’ comment is the understatement of the fucking year, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. How else could he phrase looking into the face of a child and seeing the face of the person who understood him better than anyone, who loved him and expected nothing at all in return, who helped him to his feet time and time again? Who was dead in a grave on the other side of the country.

“He looks a lot like his mother, actually.” Petunia sniffs, knife still in her hands.

“Yes,” Remus agrees. “His colouring might be mostly James, and that hair obviously, but he looks just like Lily.”

Harry preens under their words, only slightly though, as Petunia gestures for him to join her as she addresses Remus.

“Mr Lupin, this war of your people’s killed my sister and her husband. That world of yours took her from me and took her from her son. I invited you here to ask two favours of you, of which I am not yet sure how I can pay you back, but I must at least pose them to you." She pauses, breathes to try and hold onto her composure. "Mr Lupin, I need you to hide us from all who would seek Harry. I need us to go undetected by any magical authorities who might notice Harry or his magic tricks.”

Remus' mouth quirks at Petunia's description of Harry's abilities. He can do that. It would take some work and some careful wording but Remus could cast something like James’ invisibility cloak over the home here and over Harry. The boy would not be found by any seeking him. Remus nods at Petunia.

“And I need you to help teach Harry some control, maybe some more magic. I’ve been homeschooling both the boys for the past few years, and I well intend to keep doing so, but Harry has different needs than Dudley. I can’t have him accidentally hurting himself or others.” She brushes a hand over Harry’s hair to reassure him he’s done nothing wrong. The boy’s distinctive scar, usually cleverly hidden beneath longish hair, flashes white on his forehead. Remus forces himself not to stare. “But he can’t go to that cursed school.”

A wry smile twists the scars on Remus’ face. Just days ago he wasn’t sure he’d ever see his tiny godson again and today he’s the only person in the wizarding world who knows of Harry’s location. Who's seen the wondrous little boy of James Potter and Lily Evans and Petunia Evans. 

“I will do both of these things for you without payment.” Remus responds. Harry grins up at him. “But you must allow me a few days absence every full moon.”

Petunia blanches with realisation as she eyes Remus’ scars. It wouldn’t be the first time he lost a job because of his condition, but Remus is pretty sure his heart would actually stop working if Harry was taken away from him again.

“Please, Aunt Pet?” Harry chirps from her side, pulling on her hand gently.

“I… yes.” Petunia gives Remus a thorough once-over. She nods in agreement with herself. “Thank you, Mr Lupin.”

“My pleasure, Ms Wendy Evan, Petunia.” Remus’ eyes crinkle with amusement at the exasperation on Petunia’s face, so similar to her sister’s.

 

* * *

 

They can’t get Harry a wand, but he seems to do fine without one anyway. He and Dudley introduce Remus to Gnomey, who now wears tiny clothes that Petunia has knitted for him.

“And when did you do this?” Remus asks. Both boys look at each other and shrug.

“A few months ago?” Harry wonders.

“Yeah.” Dudley agrees. Harry’s cousin scoops Gnomey off the ground, from where he’d been trying to tie Remus’ shoelaces together. The Muggle boy and the magically animated gnome trot off to the kitchen, debating the best biscuits for dunking in mugs of tea.

“This is an incredible piece of magic, Harry.” Remus says, looking the boy in the eyes. _I know,_ Lily says in his head. _My boy, so clever - isn’t he?_

 _Just like you, Lily,_ he thinks, _just like you_.

“I did it on accident.” Harry scratches the back of his neck.

“Do you think you could do it again?”

 

* * *

 

 _They_ try to send Harry Potter his Hogwarts acceptance letter. None of the letters can find the boy. When she finds out the reason why (that is, nobody knows where the bloody boy _is_!), Professor McGonagall gives Albus a verbal dressing down so vicious it has students and teachers alike avoiding her for a week. Nobody can find Harry Potter. Which was fine when he was four (Minerva McGonagall still disagrees with this also newfound-to-her information), but has caused some consternation now that the boy needs magical schooling. Now that it's time for him to rejoin their world.

Harry is still listed on the intake scroll, so they know he is still alive. They’ve just not a clue where he is, off being alive.

 

* * *

 

Remus thinks he should be terrified. Harry is twelve and already proficient at wandless and wordless magic. His corporeal patronus takes the form of a doe, and even the Lily in Remus’ head only manages to say, _Oh_. When asking the boy about which memory he used to create the spell, Harry tells Remus about the time he and Dudley tried to surprise Petunia with breakfast in bed, but they burnt the bacon and the hot oil had splashed a little on Harry and surprised him. Petunia had come downstairs to her two boys with pig snouts instead of their usual human noses. The three of them had laughed uncontrollably for the better part of the morning, each time dying down until one of the boys invariably snorted and all three were set off again. Their noses went back to normal after a couple hours but the laugh-sore bellies lasted the rest of the day.

Remus has many logical reasons for why he should be terrified of Harry Potter. His power, his connection to the Dark Lord forged by an abhorrent piece of magic. When they finish their lessons, Harry is always speeding out the door into the garden, leaving Remus to follow along behind should he choose to. The boy spends his free time talking and apparently trading jokes with snakes (yes, definitely a reason for concern). Harry creates bubbly cushions floating unobtrusively beneath the trees by the back fence as baby birds start to fledge (probably not a reason for fear, apparently Lily did the same when she was young). He has a funny sense of things to come that would make Trelawney proud ("Dogs, Uncle Re." Harry a fair bit younger than now had spoken his parting words to Remus the day before the full moon, then smiled to show his three missing teeth and the one that was wobbling disgustingly). Harry wields secateurs like a seasoned grandmother (definite reason for fear). He sends Remus home with bundles of healing herbs almost every time they have lessons and some of the combinations are surprisingly potent (he doesn't know how he should feel about this). Despite the child’s inordinate abilities, Remus is not afraid of his godson. Harry laughs at anything even tangentially related to farts (Dudley likewise). He is scared of storms. He eats like a hippogriff ( _Like his father,_ Lily comments in Remus' head,  _so gross_ ). He is the first to arrive at the scene of a spider with a cup and piece of paper, taking the little creatures out to the garden while Petunia waits (hides) in another room. Harry is kind and clever and gentle and stubborn. He's the best of both his parents, the best of Petunia. Maybe someday the best parts of Remus will show through, too, though Remus mostly believes that to be an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Hogwarts DADA curriculum. 

Lily and James would be so proud. If they were alive, Remus would never hear the end of the boy's antics (not that he would mind, of course). As it is, he wishes he could tell someone - especially them - about how amazing Harry is. But he can’t and he won’t, so Remus Apparates home and sleeps with fresh lavender in his pillow.

When the news breaks that Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban, Remus rushes to Petunia’s house clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet.

 

* * *

 

It’s not an easy decision, but the boy must go to Hogwarts. None of them like it, with Dudley the most vocal opponent, but Harry promises to write often and visit whenever he can. Dudley doesn't want to be left behind by his cousin, doesn't want to be forgotten, but mostly doesn't want Harry to be hurt, to be taken permanently from them. He and Petunia spend hours together, talking in low voices about complex and contradictory feelings, and how it was okay to feel whatever was being felt, as long as communication remained a priority. Remus and Harry occasionally joined these conversations, as Harry also had complicated feelings about leaving. Excitement, fear, regret, worry for his little family. Petunia only agrees for Harry to go if Remus takes up a teaching position at the school. 

Remus doesn’t reveal Harry’s location, but he does make it possible for one particular woman to contact the boy. A letter arrives in the mail the very next morning, inviting Harry to Hogwarts “As a matter of great urgency.” Minerva McGonagall's signature is almost smudged on the parchment. 

Remus takes Harry shopping in Diagon Alley for his supplies. They both keep their heads down. Harry buys a weird wand from a weird man. Apparently it's related to the wand used to slaughter his parents. Which is... something. It feels awkward in his hand so he keeps it in his pocket.

Petunia helps Harry pack his trunk. She organises his optometrist appointment and pays for a new pair of glasses with a bunch crumpled notes and several coins, even when Harry insists they could just put his updated prescription in his old pair ("Do you think they have optometrists where you're going, young man? I don't think so!"). She bakes muffins for him to take on the train. She buys extra bags of owl treats to have at home and to send with Harry. 

Dudley runs around outside with the football a lot. He’ll be joining the team at the high school Petunia has enrolled him into. When he comes inside, he lays on the bed in Harry’s room and watches the boy read magical textbooks.

“I’m trying to catch up.” Harry explains. “I’ve never had to use a wand for magic before, what if I’m no good at it?”

“You’ll be okay,” Dudley smiles at Harry. “Promise.”

Gnomey won't speak to Harry and hides in Dudley's room until Dudley forces him out to say goodbye. Harry pats Gnomey on the head, slightly dislodging the knitted cap that's just a tiny bit too large. 

"You take care of Duds, okay?" Harry pretends the gnome isn't crying. "You take care of Aunt Pet. You take care of Gnomey."

 

* * *

 

Harry’s hair covers his scar which otherwise stands out a bright white against his brown forehead. His robes fit well. He’s a head and a half taller than all of the first years that he’s waiting with for Sorting. He hears some people snickering, wondering if he got held back a few, or if he’s related to Hagrid - whoever that is.

Harry waits patiently as names are called. Children approach and sit on a stool in front of the entire school to have a weird hat put on their heads. The hat calls out a house name, children join their house. What if he’s too old for Sorting? Petunia had cried when they'd all dropped Harry off at King’s Cross. That had made Dudley cry and then Harry was crying and all three of them were looking pointedly not normal in the middle of the station. But none of them cared. Harry wouldn’t have minded if they went straight home, then. Just got back in the car and drove to Darlington and put the kettle on and maybe did some gardening later. But he left his family and found the platform between the platforms. He sat with Remus on the train and they both sent Patronuses through the carriages when Dementors boarded. 

When the stern-looking witch in charge of the hat calls his name the entire hall falls silent. The only sound is the soft tap of Harry’s shoes against the stone floor and the rustle of robes as the eleven-year-olds move aside for him to approach the Sorting Hat.

He sees Remus at the teacher’s table. The man smiles at him ever-so-slightly and nods encouragingly. Harry sits on the stool and the Hat is placed over his head and eyes. It’s not even really a hat, surely, being this big. It’s basically a pointy talking sack to put over children’s heads.

“Hmmm… a bit late, are we Mr Potter, Mr Evans-Potter? Or should I call you Mr Harry Evan? Hiding, were you? No matter. I see great cunning in that. You’ve been clever to stay away from all this trouble here. But I see you’re not so afraid to join us. Cautious, yes, smart, oh yes, loyal, very… hmm. Are you brave, Mr Potter?” Harry doesn’t know whether or not he’s supposed to answer so he shrugs. “If not, you’re stubborn enough to make up for it… hmm. I guess I’ll have to say, GRYFFINDOR!”

The Hat is pulled off Harry’s head and he’s blinded by the sudden light of the Great Hall. The Gryffindor table shriek and bang their goblets. Other tables cheer, too. Harry stumbles to the Gryffindor bench closest to the Sorting.

“Will you be in our year?” A kind-looking girl with thick brown hair inquires. “We’re in third year.” She gestures to the others around her.

“I think so. I’ve been, uh, homeschooled up until this point so I have the basics but, er, probably have a bit of catching up to do.”

“What’s homeschooled?” A redheaded boy asks, his mouth full of potato. Harry smiles at him with recognition. There's a certain look to kids who have grown up eating a lot of sandwiches and surviving on love. 

“What does it sound like, Ronald?” The girl rolls her eyes. “You learn just like at school, but at home. I would assume that it was for Harry's protection, given the dangers even this school poses.” The boy grunts in response and returns to his meal. Harry stares at the swaths of food before him and wonders what Dudley and Aunt Pet are having for dinner tonight. It’s probably pasta. On the Gryffindor table alone Harry can see three different pasta dishes all with different fancy sauces, amongst a multitude of other food.

The third years and some of the nearby second years make their introductions to Harry. The redheaded boy, Ronald (“Just Ron, cheers,”) is older brother to second year Ginny. She smiles shyly at Harry, who can't help but grin in return. They’re both younger than their brothers Charlie, Bill, Percy, Fred, and George, of whom two have already graduated and one is presently Head Boy. Fred and George levitate individual peas around the table as they eat and talk and laugh. Dean and Seamus both shake Harry's hand warmly and ask him if he'll be trying out for the Quidditch team. He knows from old magical photos that his father played as a Chaser. 

"Oi!" A tall, sturdily-built seventh year shouts down the table. Ron identifies him to Harry as Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. "You'd better be trying out for Seeker!" Harry stares at him. He doesn't even have a broom. "You're built for it, Potter!"

 

* * *

 

Harry has always loved having Remus as a teacher. DADA is fascinating and though most of what they’re covering is theory for now, Harry drinks it all in. Harry has no trouble listening to Remus' quiet explanations, his slightly rambling descriptions of the Grindylow which paces the water in its tank. Other student lean forward, trying to catch Remus' words while Harry takes notes in the shorthand he and Remus had developed together last year.

Harry doesn’t much enjoy having his death predicted by Professor Trelawney, but he can imagine Aunt Pet sniffing disapprovingly in the strange woman’s direction and that sets him slightly at ease. 

"Don't stress about Trelawney, mate, she's honestly bonkers." Ron claps him on the shoulder as they descend the many stairs of the Divination Tower.

Professor Snape seems determined to catch Harry out on something, anything, so he’s glad he’s already done the first few week’s readings ahead of time. Remus' gentle potions instructions ring in Harry's ears, overlaid atop Professor Snape's taunting directions. Harry brews a perfect Antidote to Uncommon Poisons that even Professor Snape grudgingly admits is of above-average quality. Ron and Hermione beam at him from behind their cauldrons, but in his distraction Ron knocks several Doxy eggs into his concoction and causes quite the commotion.

Hagrid (apparently not Professor Hagrid) cries and hugs Harry in front of everyone during the first class. It’s quite embarrassing and a few of the Slytherins laugh at him. Harry loves meeting the hippogriff, though. His feathers are longer than Harry's forearm and softer than cotton. Buckbeak looks at Harry with a kind of deep understanding. Maybe Harry could visit Hagrid’s hut and see if he could spend more time with the animal.

Transfiguration is delightful. Professor McGonagall’s transformation in front of the whole class was amazing. Harry almost wishes he could show her Gnomey. He’ll certainly be writing to Dudley about his teacher who’s also a cat! And wording it much more carefully in his letter to Aunt Pet (“She’s not actually a cat, of course, that would be irresponsible from an educational standpoint, but she can transform into a cat.”).

Charms relies heavily on wandwork, which Harry finds clumsy and uncooperative, though he’s doing better than Seamus Finnegan who appears to singe his eyebrows in every single lesson. Professor Flitwick seems kind, though, and when Harry manages to wordlessly and wandlessly mend the patchworks they’re studying the Reparo charm with, the Professor praises him enthusiastically. And loudly. For the whole class to hear. Harry realises that Professor Flitwick doesn’t really seem to mind if Harry doesn’t do quite the right movements or if he says the right things when he still manages to successfully perform the tasks at hand. Hermione only looks a little bit jealous.

History of Magic is bizarre, taught by a ghost, and makes Harry wish for lessons with Aunt Pet again. She made history fun. She did voices if she could tell that he and Dudley were paying attention. Positive reinforcement, she'd called it. Harry missed cups of tea while they discussed causes and effects of certain events. He missed Dudley's snorts at historical figure's bizarre names. If only Dudley could meet some of the people in the paintings around the castle. 

Harry’s favourite class above all is Herbology. In the greenhouses, it’s like Harry is back home with Dudley doing laps of the yard and he and Aunt Pet with their hands in the dirt. He feels a little lost in his other classes, even with the thorough curriculum Remus put him through back home. Harry doesn’t feel lost in the greenhouses. Professor Sprout notices, and lets him know he’s welcome to come by anytime he wishes. She has a few benches and plots in one of the smaller hothouses for student use. Harry starts a little tray of seedlings after Professor Sprout makes everyone spending their free time in the greenhouses put their hand in a weird little bag and pull out a handful of seeds. Harry writes to Aunt Pet about all the different plants, does little sketches as best he can, promises he has plenty to eat, and assures her that everyone is perfectly nice (even if they aren’t always).

Harry’s presence changes the dynamic of friendships that formed two years ago. His fame and unconventional approach to magic only unbalance his presence amongst people who don’t quite get _it_. Hermione is trying. Ron is nice, but also busy. Ginny is rebuilding herself from the husk she was left as at the end of last year (Hermione tells him about The Chamber, about the Basilisk still dormant under the castle, about the cursed notebook). Harry and Neville get along well, though Harry ends up getting into several disagreements with those who think it okay to pick on Neville.

Harry meets Luna Lovegood when she wanders into the greenhouses one afternoon, barefoot and missing her tie. She’s very weird. She’s not normal when she’s inside or when she’s outside, and she’s brilliant. They become fast friends. Harry tells her about Dudley and Aunt Pet and Gnomey, about homeschooling and Professor Lupin when he's Uncle Remus and the garden out the back of the house and the birds in the trees. Luna tells him about Nargles and the Quibbler and her father and their spindly towery house in the countryside and the things she paints on her bedroom wall and the fat bumblebees that have formed a hive in one of their kitchen cupboards. 

 

* * *

 

Apparently Harry is the new Gryffindor Seeker. Third year, on a flying broom for the fifth time in his life, Harry plays for his house. The clouds hang low and heavy over the pitch and the whole world rumbles with the thunder. Harry can feel the electrical storm in his fingertips. He almost catches the Snitch several times, but it slips his grasp. He and the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory jostle their way upwards, through the lowest bank of clouds, disappearing from view. Diggory's broom is far better than the spare Harry's on but Harry is, apparently, his father's son. The boys bump shoulder to shoulder in pursuit of the tiny golden ball. 

The Dementors seem to manifest out of the storm clouds. That, or in his singular focus, Harry doesn't notice them until it's too late. Cedric has disappeared and Harry is surrounded. He can hear someone screaming in the back of his head. He left his wand in the boy's changerooms because he's an idiot and because it was poking him uncomfortably no matter where he tried to store it. The screaming gets louder. The black shapes move closer. Harry's never made a Patronus in the presence of several Dementors while on a broom and lightheaded from all the screaming before. He finds himself struggling to think of a happy memory - any happy memories at all. His childhood turns grey and dull. The screaming continues.  _No! Please not Harry! I'll do anything, please!_ Harry starts falling. The Dementors follow. More screams join the one in Harry's head when he and the Dementors drop below the clouds.  _Not Harry, please not Harry! My boy, my baby, please no!_  

There's a woman looking at Harry from within Harry's own head. She has his face, just a bit lighter, covered in freckles. She has his eyes. She's smiling and her eyes crinkle like Aunt Pet's do. She has dark red hair, darker than any of the Weasley's. She whispers his name like it's a fragile thing. There's a sunflower in her hands, and it's... singing a lullaby, curling and unfurling its petals to its own rhythm. _Don't please don't touch him!_ Light flows out from Harry's hands as he raises them between himself and the closest Dementor. He's still falling. He and Dudley are small, are bouncing on Aunt Pet's bed. It's so big and fluffy and excellent for bouncing. Harry can't see past the light that has blossomed out of his body, forcing back the Dementors. Petunia wipes the milk off of Harry's top lip with a fond smile, passes him the cryptic crossword from the newspaper.  _I'll do anything please just don't hurt him!_  Remus casts a Tickling Charm on Gnomey, which has Dudley and Harry on the floor gasping with laughter. In the centre of the light a huge doe steps into existence. As Harry falls through the sky she chases the Dementors away from him, away from the crowds of other students, away from the Quidditch players, away from the pitch in its entirety until the dark creatures return to their positions on the perimeter of the school grounds. The fine-boned deer bounds through the sky, trailing white light wherever she steps.  _Not Harry please, not my sweet Harry!_ Harry falls until he stops falling and everything fades back into the clouds. 

 

* * *

 

When Petunia steps into the Infirmary, she sees the shadowy outline of her sister's body at her feet. There's a crowd of athletes and children in black robes around one of the beds. Remus sits closest to the cot in question. He stands when he sees her. Petunia can only take so much, she thinks. Most of the children clear out when she hurries to Harry's side. God, he's so tiny. 

Harry's chest is barely moving with small, shallow breaths. His hair has been pushed back from his forehead and his scar glows like a vein of moonstone in rock. His eyelids are bruised dark, like the skins of blood plums. Petunia grabs her youngest boy's hand. It's cold. She looks down at Harry and she sees the bundle left on her doorstep. She sees those big Lily eyes staring up at her. She sees a tiny Dudley and even tinier Harry holding hands as they climb over logs, searching for frogs. She sees Lily reclining under a tree. She sees Harry in the garden, brushing his hair back from his face and peering up at her, his scar flashing in the sunlight and dirt on his cheek. 

A very sensible, medical woman clears the rest of the children away from the immediacy of Harry's bed. Petunia looks up at her, equally expectant of good news as bad. 

"He will be fine, Mrs Evans." The medical woman says. "He's just exhausted from the mental, emotional, and physical strength it took from him."

"But he fell a hundred feet!" Petunia exclaims, suddenly feeling very watched, very out of place, very Muggle. 

"Professor Lupin here slowed the last part of his descent and caught him." 

"Remus," Petunia grasps her friend's forearm with her free hand. "You saved him."

"He saved us all." Remus said, pulling out the most perfectly not normal photograph Petunia had ever seen. "No doubt he'll do it again."

"I certainly hope not." Petunia sniffs, but the disapproving impression is somewhat diminished by her actual tears. 

"There were a bunch of journalists wanting to see his first game. There's a lot of magical footage of the incident."

Petunia stares at the photo. Harry is falling through the sky, a tiny figure plummeting. Her gut twists every time the image loops. Weird dark shapes loom ominously around the field, around Harry. As she watches, huge blossoms of light spill out of Harry's hands and a deer made of the same substance seems to step out of his chest and begin chasing off the darkness. Petunia remembers Lily telling her that her Patronus was a doe. At the time Petunia had thought, of all the animals in the world to conjure, a deer was a bit boring. How wrong she was. The photo makes her feel sick and proud at the same time. When she moves to return the photo, Remus presses it back into her hands, smiling wanly. 

"There's no shortage of this particular image, let alone all the other ones from different angles and exposures." He says. "Take it, show it to Dudley, tell him that it's the happy memories between the two of them that allowed Harry to do this." He taps the light bursting from the boy in the photograph. "It's the happy memories with you, too, those are what power this spell."

Petunia stumbles a little as she leaves the Infirmary. And, of course, she almost walks into Severus. 

"You!" Severus remarks, surprised.

"You." Petunia glares at him.

"The boy is as foolish as his father." The man sneers. "I'm surprised he can even levitate a feather, given it was you who raised him."

"You are as cruel as your mother." Petunia snaps, feeling herself return to buzzing summer days. Feeling left behind by her little sister. Feeling indignantly certain it was supposed to be the other way around. "At least I've tried to grow out of being a horrible child." Without waiting for Severus to respond, Petunia moves past him, marching back the way she came into this bloody castle. 

She must have made a wrong turn somewhere, because she ends up in a corridor she doesn't remember seeing before. Petunia whirls in every direction, angry and scared as a wild creature, trapped. 

"He will be okay, you know." A young voice says. Petunia spins to face a child in black robes, maybe one of the ones gathered around Harry's bed earlier. The girl is barefoot and her necktie has been tied into a ridiculous-looking bow. "Harry, I mean. He's just tired after everything he's done, today."

"Are you one of his friends here?"

"I'm Luna Lovegood." The girl smiles as though her attention is already elsewhere. "Harry and I both like the greenhouses and the hippogriff." 

"He gardens a lot at home. It's a bit lonely doing it all without him." Petunia doesn't know why she, a perfectly normal Muggle, is admitting such things to a perfectly strange magical child. 

"I know, he's told me all about gardening with you." Luna traces one of the flagstones with her toes. "And Dudley runs drills through the garden with the football!" She quotes.

Warmth kindles in Petunia's chest. Harry's proud of them. Even in the face of all this grandeur, all this magic, he still thinks it worth describing his aunt and his cousin to these magical people. 

The girl, Luna, manages to lead Petunia back to the castle entrance. It's a roundabout route that uses none of the stairs and passages that Petunia entered through, but that's okay. 

"Well, thank you Miss Lovegood. You are delightfully odd,  and I see exactly why Harry is your friend. He is lucky to have someone like you in his life. Please put on some socks, though, you'll catch your death from the stones on the floor."

"Oh thank you for the advice Ms Evans, I didn't realise the floors were contagious." Luna smiles vaguely and drifts away. 

 

* * *

  

She and Dudley sit on the sofa staring for a long time at the photo of Harry falling. It's magical and it's terrifying and it's everything that makes Petunia want to hide her boys away from the world. Harry's fine, and has already sent them each three letters apologising he wasn't awake to see Petunia, reiterating his perfect health, telling them just how much he misses them. 

"He... he could have died, Mum." Dudley whispers.

Petunia slips the photo into an album of pictures it's too difficult to look at every day. The ones of her sister when the two of them were hardly on speaking terms. The ones with the filthy traitor in them. The ones of Ma, Da, Lily, and herself. They remind Petunia that she's the only one left.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys should know that if you're looking for a happy ending, despite the lightness in the story, this is not going to end pleasantly.

Harry wakes up three days after the Quidditch match. Luna is sitting cross-legged on the chair by his bed, reading an advanced-looking Transfiguration textbook. Chocolates have been piled on the nightstand, atop which a large… lion hat… sits.

"Who won?" He croaks. Luna summons him a glass of water and lets him drink before she responds.

"Hufflepuff, unfortunately." She smiles faintly when Harry Vanishes the glass from his hand. "Their seeker suggested a rematch, but your captain refused."

"Well, shit." 

"You're aunt visited right after it happened, she's just as you've always described her, but it's nice to have a face to put to her name." Luna plucks a small box of chocolates from the nightstand. Aunt Pet was here? What did she think of Hogwarts? What did she think of Luna? Harry sits up slightly as Madame Pomfrey enters the ward. 

"Mr Potter! You're awake!" She rushes over to him. "How are you feeling?"

Harry evaluates. His entire body aches and he'd rather go back to sleep than anything. 

"Like I fell off my broom, honestly."

"Right, well, another few hours in here for observation and then you'll be on your way."

"Chocolates?" Luna holds out the box, a crescent moon-shaped truffle already between her teeth. That afternoon, the two of them try most of the sweets left for Harry, comparing flavours and charming the Hallowe'en themed bat chocolates to flutter around the bed. 

 

* * *

 

Harry walks into every class the next day to a resounding silence settling painfully in each room. Other students stare at him in the halls, watch him eat lunch, look on as he tries to study. It's like Professor McGonagall calling his name out in front of the whole school for the Sorting, only it's all the time. Harry hates it. Hermione quizzes him on how he did it.

"How did I do what, Hermione?"

"A wandless Patronus,  _obviously_!" 

He doesn't have an answer for her, obviously. Things just happen. Of everyone, Aunt Pet and Dudley would understand best. Like Gnomey, things like that just happen to and around Harry. He doesn't even fully understand the mechanics of wandwork but he knows magic on an instinctual level that cannot be articulated with words. Harry takes refuge in Remus' office to study in peace. Remus makes him cups of tea almost as good as Aunt Petunia and doesn't interfere with Harry's studies unless asked a question. Harry likes being able to ask Remus about any of his subjects and knowing he'll receive a considered response. Remus enjoys the quiet noises of another person in the room. Gentle breathing and rustling parchment. Harry's expression when he's thinking hard is almost exactly the same as James' when he was grappling with a particularly tangled problem. The first time Remus saw Harry make that face was several years ago when he'd asked the boy about what the bond between two objects consisted of when cast with Epoximise.

Since the Dementor attack on the Quidditch pitch, Harry's been spending more and more time with Remus and less with other students. Tonight the boy falls asleep on his books at Remus' desk. Remus carries Harry to the daybed under the high window of his office and tucks him in. Harry doesn't even stir. As the weather has cooled, Petunia has started sending knitted throws and patchworks that require more than one owl to carry. Remus lays one over the top of Harry's duvet. There's two on his own bed in the little loft accessible by a spiral staircase in his office. Remus leaves a few enchanted candles floating in the centre of the room so Harry doesn't wake up disoriented and in the dark. He takes the stairs to bed.

 

* * *

 

Petunia and Dudley read the letters from Remus together, usually sitting at the dining table. They each read and treasure their own letters from Harry, sometimes sharing aloud particularly funny lines. Petunia writes frequent, shorter letters. She keeps Harry's owl, Hedwig, well-fed with treats. Harry jokes she won't be able to fly if Petunia feeds her too much. Petunia thinks that's unfair; Hedwig is in perfect condition. Dudley writes less often, but his letter are longer, full of drawings and observations from home and school, updates on Gnomey's antics.  _Harry he's been stealing one sock from every pair! Mum is furious and they're not speaking to each other. What should I do to get him to give them all back?_

Because she doesn't know how to say it to his face, Petunia writes to Harry about her childhood with Lily.  _I wasn't always very nice to your mother, Harry. I was scared of her magic, but more than that I was jealous. Jealous that she was special and I was not. I've tried to avoid that with you and Dudley, because it was based on my own dysfunction and not the true reality of things. I know it's not always been successful, I'm not perfect. I've always wanted you boys to know that you're special in your own ways, and not because of anything in particular but just because you are who you are. Does that make sense?_ Petunia had called Lily a freak from when her little sister had received her Hogwarts acceptance letter until she left for the magical school. Petunia's letter to Professor Dumbledore that year had been rebuffed. Lily was leaving her behind.  _I can't - and don't want to - excuse my behaviour towards my sister in those couple years, Harry. But I can explain it to you, so you may understand her and I a little more. I was so caught up in feeling the unfairness of things between us, of feeling that our parents loved and praised her so much more than me, that I forgot the most important thing of all: Lily was and always will be my dear sister. I forgot how to be kind to her, forgot to treasure her, forgot to love her in the way that she deserved. When I grew out of that toxic nonsense, I figured I would have the rest of our lives to work at making up for my behaviour. That was not the case, obviously._

She and Dudley discuss Vernon. Dudley barely remembers his father, but when he starts asking Petunia questions about him and the aunt and uncle he never met, she decides to answer them. "I married your father because he was secure, he seemed like my best shot at a normal life."

_Lily never liked your uncle. I can see why, now, of course. Back then I was so caught up in the narrative of relationships and making a house and marriage and having children that I never thought to why Lily might have felt that way. Of course, Lily was the smartest person around so I should've seen the red flags when she was so on edge around him. At our wedding Vernon called your father some awful names. They don't deserve repeating here. I didn't stand up for James and Lily then. Didn't want to ruin my own special day or have them ruin it with the unpleasantness of confronting Vernon. So I did nothing. I'll regret that for the rest of my life, Harry. Your mother and father did not deserve to be excluded, certainly not from such an event. Vernon was cruel to them, but in my silence I humiliated them._

"Your aunt and uncle were magical people, like Harry is. You never met them but lots of your toys when you were little were from James and Lily. They were nervous to visit us because they didn't want to disturb the peace with your father, I think. He didn't like them at all, so they thought they were doing the right thing by me in staying away. You'd have loved them, Dudley, and they would've loved you too."

_Before Lily started at Hogwarts, some of the other children at school would pick on her. She had no time for doing things as they were expected of her, or subscribing to the narrow roles formed in the playground at such young ages. I would stand up for her in the schoolyard. Being a older had its advantages. Lily likewise would reprimand those who made fun of me at school for being too shrill, too bossy, too much. She was terrifying when she was angry. We stood up for each other growing up - we protected each other. So you see how it feels that I have failed my side of our pact so utterly and completely._

"There was a war, in their world. I don't know much about it, but I believe there was some kind of mass murderer committing hate crimes against magical people who don't have magical parents. Like your Aunt Lily. Our parents were just regular non-magical people, but Lily was a witch. Some people didn't like her for that. She and James stood up to the... Voldefort or something, I think three times. Someone apparently said that the people who denied him three times would have a baby that would be the end of the Voldefort, so he tracked them down to kill them with magic, only when he used the magic on Harry it rebounded and killed Voldefort. Mr Remus said that's why Harry has his scar on his forehead - it's a mark of dark magic."

_A lot of people will tell you how clever Lily was, I'm sure. She was - the cleverest person I've ever met. But her brain was surpassed by her heart. Lily was the kindest person I ever have and ever will know. It's hard to explain, Harry, how it just existed in/around her all the time. When boys stomped on snails she would chase them away and then repair the shells of the snails and put them back in the garden. She always did her chores, and sometimes she'd do some of mine without me even realising. Just because she could. When I was unkind to her, when I forced her out of my narrow life, she stayed on the periphery. If I was in her shoes I'd have given up, have just left, you know? But she stayed just far enough away to respect the awful choices I'd made, but close enough that she could be there if I ever asked. That was the kind of person your mum was._

"In the letter they wrote me when they left Harry on the doorstep - on a cold night by the way!" Petunia scoffs and rolls her eyes. "They said that because of the way Lily died, there was some kind of magical blood protection on him and on us, that it would keep us all safe.  _Obviously_ that's not the case because you saw the photo of him at that Quid match!"

"They left Harry on your doorstep?!"

_Remus says that people in the magical world say that she sacrificed herself for you, but I don't think she would have seen it like that. She was protecting you, standing up for you. The consequences were not a factor. If she'd considered her death at all, it might've been a consciously chosen self-sacrifice. But I doubt that even crossed her mind when she stood between you and the one who wanted to hurt you._

 

* * *

 

When Harry comes home for Christmas he looks hungry. Not for food, Petunia heard from Lily how much there always was to eat at Hogwarts. But hungry for something. There are dark circles under his eyes and his hair is messier than usual. He sits in the garden for hours on end until Petunia pleads for him to come back inside, where it's warm. She makes hot chocolate, with milk instead of water because it's Christmastime. But she doesn't know what's wrong with her youngest boy. One of the afternoons, Dudley comes home from training and sits in the garden with Harry. It seems like they're talking, but Dudley is the only one who's animated. Harry doesn't move. Petunia sends Gnomey out to call them back inside. She doesn't want to intrude. 

"It's nothing like a Hogwarts feast, but..." Petunia says as she serves the boys a shepherd's pie. 

"Missed your cooking, Aunt Pet." Harry says. Petunia can't quite keep the smile off her face during dinner. 

"He doesn't want to worry you." Dudley says to Petunia in the living room. Harry has insisted on doing the dishes. "The Sirius Black guy is really a big problem. He's nuts, apparently. He betrayed Aunt Lily and Uncle James to the - apparently it's Voldemort not Voldefort - guy, so he could find them and murder them. Then the Sirius guy murdered twelve people and another wizard before they captured him."

When Harry enters the living room Petunia tells him to stop wiping his wet hands on his jeans. The three of them curl up on the main sofa together and watch terrible game shows for the rest of the evening. She has to herd the boys to bed when they doze off in front of the telly. Harry's pyjamas are getting a little short at the wrists and ankles, Petunia notes. There's no more fabric in them to let out, so she grabs an extra blanket from the linen cupboard in the hall and presses it into his arms. 

"Dudley told me about what's happening, Harry."

"I don't want you to worry." He rubs his eyes and looks at her tiredly through his glasses.

"It's my job to worry about you, and I'm always going to do it."

"Hogwarts is safe. Besides,  _if_ I ever meet the bastard, I'll kill him."

"Langauge, Harry." Her boy best not be killing anyone. That kind of shit is for grownups to be taking care of. 

"Sorry Aunt Pet."

"Get to bed, love. You're exhausted." 

Christmas is a fairly quiet affair. Petunia gives each boy a new, thick knitted jumper. Harry's is a dusky blue-grey while Dudley's is a lovely midnight navy. Dudley gives Harry a set of quills he found at the antiques shop on the way to school. Petunia receives a wristwatch from the same shop, that Dudley himself has painstakingly repaired and restored until it's a shiny, precise little object. Harry goes to the kitchen window to collect a gift for the both of them, apparently. It involves him opening and leaning out of the window, whistling sharply. A beautiful barn owl, all tawny amber and oak, sweeps into the living room and settles on the arm of the couch. 

"Whoa." Dudley grins at Harry. And pulls him into a one-armed hug, still staring excitedly at the bird. 

"It'll make letters and things a bit easier, I thought. Less work for just Hedwig." Harry scratches his head. "Do you like him?"

"Oh yes." Petunia breathes, staring at the beautiful creature perched right by her. "Dudley you're not allowed to name him." 

"Hey! Gnomey is a perfectly good name and besides, I was little!" 

"Gnomey!" Shouts the little gnome from somewhere. 

"What about Sowa? It's Polish for owl." Dudley suggests in spite of his mother's instructions.

"Who taught you that?" 

"Our centre-back, Filip, is Polish." Dudley shrugs and reaches out to pat the owl, who tilts his head for scratches.

"And the centre-back on your football team, who is Polish, taught you the word for owl?" Petunia deflects. She actually doesn't mind the name but she's reluctant to let her son name the creature. Dudley shrugs again.

"Well I think it's a decent name." Harry grins at her. 

"Gnomey!" Shouts Gnomey, running out from under the armchair. 

So Harry gives Dudley and Petunia an owl named Sowa for Christmas. He and Hedwig roost together in Harry and Dudley's bedroom. Petunia spoils both owls with treats and pats. 

 

* * *

 

The New Year unfolds with little fanfare, and all too soon it's time for Harry to return to Hogwarts. Harry and Petunia drop Dudley off at his school before driving to London. As he gets out of the car Dudley claps Harry solemnly on the shoulder. 

"Please stay safe, Harry."

"You too Dudley."

Petunia only cries a little bit when she and Harry part at the train station. Harry embraces her tightly and promises that things will work out okay. That Sowa and Hedwig will make it easy to stay in touch with him and Remus. That school will be over soon enough. 

Hermione finds Harry in a compartment by himself. Many of the students returning to Hogwarts have either made their way a few days earlier, or are taking alternative forms of transport back to school. Hermione flops down across from Harry and sets her cat on the seat next to her. She nudges the compartment door shut with her foot and locks it with a complex swish of her wand. 

"Can never be too safe, eh?"

"How was your Christmas?" Harry asks mildly. He's wearing the jumper Petunia made him and it fits like a hug. 

"My parents and I went birdwatching in Spain for a week." Hermione launches into an explanation of migratory and sedentary birds and Harry smiles, settling into the gentle swaying of the train. 

 

* * *

 

As the academic year progresses, they don't hear from Harry quite so frequently. Remus writes weekly - short updates on classes and Harry's general wellbeing. Petunia understands why Harry hasn't been writing so much. Dudley is also swamped under a pile of schoolwork, and barely has free time between studies and football practice. When Harry does write, though, Petunia reads into the slant of his lines, the smudges in his lettering, and the splodges of ink, as though through it she might gain insight into her boy's inner state. 

Harry and Remus arrive in Darlington at the same time, both carting their trunks. 

"We have a lot of news." Remus says at the same time as Harry says, "Sirius Black isn't a murderer!"

"I'll put the kettle on." Petunia embraces them both and heads back into the kitchen.

"I'll get Gnomey." Dudley hugs them enthusiastically and rushes back inside. 

Sitting around the kitchen table, Remus and Harry begin to tell a story. 

"So anyway what really happened was that the Peter guy, who was also friends with my parents and Remus and Sirius at school, he betrayed them and faked his own death to frame my godfather, Sirius, who was innocent!"

"How on earth did he fake his death for twelve years?"

"He turned himself into a rat!"

"Gross!"

"Gnomey!"

"So they put Sirius in wizard prison for more than ten years for a crime he didn't commit. All this stuff where we thought he was trying to get to me, he was trying to get to Peter and get revenge for my parents."

"And what happened to the Peter fellow?"

"He escaped, Petunia. Took his rodent form again and ran for it. Without proof it technically leaves Sirius Black still at large, though I now have no doubt in my mind he is in fact an innocent man. He is still the friend I believed he was when we were children."

"But Snape is worse than ever! He's -" Harry exclaims so suddenly that his glasses slide down his nose. 

"It's okay, Harry. I've lost my job, Petunia. Severus revealed my condition to several students and there were enough complaints from parents not wanting me around their children that I was forced to resign."

"That's nonsense!" Petunia snaps, patting Remus' hand to let him know her anger is not at all directed at him. "You've been around Harry and Dudley since they were barely knee-height and you've never hurt a hair on their heads!"

"They can't do that!" Dudley agrees loudly, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with his cousin.

"Unfortunately they can, and they did." Remus gives them a smile that's not really a smile at all. Harry stares glumly into his tea. 

"Harry, teach me how to make one of those letters that yells at people." Petunia says as she stands to clear the table. She waves down her boys as they try to help.

"A Howler?"

"Yes."

"Sirius and I are looking to rent a small house outside of Hogsmeade. Obviously I'll be the one doing the renting, as the Ministry is still under the incorrect assumption of Sirius' guilt. But it means we'll both be near Harry for whenever he needs us." Remus polishes off the biscuits on his plate. "Though I greatly appreciate being able to use the couch here for a few nights, so I can strengthen the wards around the house. Also, I'll show you the Howler mechanics, the kids haven't learnt how to alter volume and pitch yet."

"Don't thank me, Remus." Petunia returns from the kitchen and pats his shoulder. "And it's a good couch, pull out with one of those surprisingly nice mattresses in it. I got it from an old work colleague." 

When Severus Snape receives a Howler from Petunia Evans, he learns just how shrill her voice can really get. Apparently since childhood, she's perfected a voice that's both angry and disappointed. He learns a surprising combination of a few particular words. 

 

* * *

 

When Petunia first properly meets Sirius Black, he looks nothing like the terrifying photo from the Daily Prophet that Remus had showed her a year ago. He's a tall man, with a face that a trashy romance novel (of course the kind Petunia would  _never_ read) might call roguishly handsome. He's clean-shaven and his long black hair is tied neatly at the nape of his neck. He wears a crisp button-down shirt and trousers, his shoes are shiny and match the leather of his belt. He's covered in lots of funny, little tattoos, but Petunia can look past them when Sirius flashes her a winning smile. 

And, oh, Sirius Black is a funny bastard. Where Remus is quiet, Sirius is outspoken. Where Remus is subtle and wry, Sirius is sarcastic and just a touch crude. He and Dudley eagerly talk football, and Dudley doesn't seem to mind that the man's facts and figures are mostly from over a decade ago. He describes the Quidditch World Cup to the boys with such wonder in his eyes, such quick movements in his hands, that the two begin plotting a way to get to see the Cup before the night is over. 

Petunia has made a round chocolate cake covered in sunflower yellow frosting. Remus follows her into the kitchen as she dots the surface of the cake with candles, and using his wand, he lights them in such a way that the wax won't melt. She and Remus start a low hum as they emerge from the kitchen, which evolves into a chaotic rendition of  _Happy Birthday_ , with Sirius shouting the entire song and Harry and Dudley singing the lines at each other's faces. Petunia snaps several photos of the boys blowing out their birthday candles on a disposable camera. Remus will transform the photos into magical, moving images. 

From Sirius and Remus, Dudley receives an enormous box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. Petunia wrinkles her nose as the magical folk explain the confection to Dudley, who grins mischievously at Harry. From Petunia, Dudley receives a brand new pair of cleats and shinguards that haven't previously belonged to graduating team members - they're brand new. 

Harry knows what a broom looks like, even wrapped in paper. When he reveals the glinting golden label of the Firebolt, he chokes on his own intake of breath, looking up at Remus and Sirius in shock. The two men grin and gesture for Harry to finish unwrapping the new broom.

"This is amazing, thank you guys so much!"

"The least we could do for Hogwarts' greatest Quidditch player since James Potter." Sirius ruffles Harry's hair gently.

"Can't have you keep playing against Slytherin on a spare Gryffindor training broom." Remus says. 

"Oh." Says Petunia.

"I wanna see you fly later!" Dudley shakes Harry's shoulder with excitement.

Any worry Petunia had about her birthday gift for Harry not living up to the broomstick fades when he opens the haphazard parcel. 

"It's all of Lily's letters between her and your father. And James' letters too. There are a few to Remus and Sirius, mostly Lily telling Sirius off for something or other it seems, and Alice and Frank." Petunia folds her hands neatly in her lap. "I thought... well I just... maybe you'd like to have them." 

Petunia only has a moment to prepare herself while Harry moves the collection of letters to the end table, before her youngest and gangliest child is launching himself at her, and weeping gently into her collarbone.

"Oh, my boy, I didn't want to make you cry, shh, it's okay." Petunia strokes his hair as Harry takes a brief moment to compose himself before returning to his seat.  _Thank you_ , she hears in her head.  _Thank you for taking care of little Harry_. 

Remus and Sirius pat Harry's back gently and eye the letters with expressions that are forlorn and maybe amused and something not quite resembling jealousy, as though the letters possess parts of Lily none of them will ever truly get to hold again. 

Everyone grabs a couple of beans from the giant Bertie Bott's box. Dudley gets a cinnamon bean that makes him sneeze and one that's a toxic green that looks like it should taste foul, but is actually lime jelly flavoured. Remus gets a chocolate bean, much to his relief, and a salt water bean. Petunia selects a rosy pink bean from the box that tastes like ham, and refuses to try another, laughing as she pushes the box to Harry and spits the confection out. Harry gets one that tastes of parchment ("It's not too bad, actually!"), and another of pumpkin pie, which he grins smugly about. Sirius takes a medium-sized handful of beans and pours them all into his mouth at once.

"It's a taste sensation!" Sirius says around a full mouth of Every Flavour Beans at everyone else's sounds of disgust.  

Petunia takes the cake plates to the kitchen where Sirius helpfully Scourgifies them for her. Remus stores the cake in a big plastic box and pops it in the fridge. Dudley puts the box of beans away in the pantry as Harry carries his letters and Dudley's new athletic gear to their bedroom. Harry leaves the cleats and shinguards neatly at the foot of his cousin's bed and tucks the letters under his own quilt. Not to hide them, just to... keep them in the intimate treasuring between sheet and blanket.

They all reconvene outside, where the evening summer sky has turned a floral shade of purple. 

"Don't let anyone see you." Petunia warns, worry humming through her skin as pride beats in her chest. Harry grins at her and then mounts the broom. One moment he's there, beside them, and Dudley starts to ask how fast the thing can move. The next moment Harry is in the sky, a great distance away. He waves merrily, not hearing Petunia cry out in shock. Remus puts a hand on her shoulder.

"It's all right, he's an excellent flyer." 

"I can't help but think..."

"He won't fall. There are no Dementors here."

Harry performs several complex manoeuvres that all, apparently, have bizarre names like the "Wollongong Shimmy" that sound totally made up to Petunia. When he lands she catches her breath until Dudley asks if he could join his cousin.

"I -" Petunia wants to say no. To say that they should all go back inside where it is safe. But the boys look so excited and happy. She can stand being afraid for a little while if it brings them such joy. "Of course."

Dudley whoops as he hops on the broom behind Harry, grabbing him in a thrilled hug. They take off. Petunia presses her lips together in a thin line to stop herself from gasping. Both her boys, her light and love, in the air together. One wrong move and she could lose them both, her whole life.  _Aren't they having so much fun, though?_ Lily asks in her mind. Petunia can't help but agree. 

 

* * *

 

When Sowa brings five letters all at once, not long after Harry has returned to Hogwarts, Petunia predicts the worst. She flips the envelopes over, seeing  _From: S Lupin, From: R Lupin, From: Professor M McGonagall, From: Headmaster Professor A Dumbledore,_ and with an exhausting rush of relief,  _From: Harry Evans-Potter_. She opens that one first, reading it as she retrieves a treat for Sowa. 

_Aunt Pet you'll never believe what's happened! I don't know how, because I'm technically too young to have entered AND I definitely did NOT enter myself, but I've been picked to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. Clearly a Quadwizard Tournament this year. Apparently because of the magic involved, I legally have to participate, I don't know. Remus understands it more than I do._

Petunia's head swirls. What kind of competition is this? Who put Harry up to it? Is it safe?

_Dear Ms Evans,_

_The Triwizard Tournament is an ancient and beloved tradition of competition and sportspersonship between -_

God, she can't hardly read Dumbledore's letter. 

_Ms Petunia Evans,_

_Harry has, through either some underhanded intervention (I do not believe him complicit), or strange magical occurrence, been entered into the Triwizard Tournament. The last Tournament held between Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Durmstrang Institute, and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, was in the year 1792. It's cessation cited the high mortality rate as cause for termination. This year is the first it has been reinstated in more than 200 years. I am informing you of this fact because, as his Head of House and as a concerned teacher, Harry's safety and wellbeing - above school pride and sense of competition - is my utmost priority._

While Petunia understands the language of sensible women it does little to comfort her. 

_Petunia,_

_Harry is in the T-------- Tournament. Remus will explain. It's dangerous but if he wins he will ------ more legendary ---- he already is._

_I don't know whether to be proud or furious. There --- an age line ------ the Goblet. The Weasley twins tried to ----- ---------- and ended up with ----- white beards as a ------ result._

_It's a bit of a mystery. But we'll be cheering him on the whole way._

_You and Dudley ----- come to the tasks if you ----._

_S_

Sirius writes terrible letters when he's in a hurry. They're barely legible as words and from what she can actually read, meaning is still nearly incomprehensible. 

_Dear Petunia,_

_I'm sure you've received several letters by now informing you of Harry's (I believe unwilling) participation in the Triwizard Tournament. You're probably wondering why he has to compete when he did not enter himself. Unfortunately this kind of magic is fickle and the Goblet of Fire (into which students entered their names to be in the running for entry into the Tournament) possesses strong binding contractual powers. S and I will do our best to assist him, to keep him safe. I'm sorry we cannot guarantee his wellbeing. It pains me that I cannot promise you that the Tournament won't take him from us, but Harry takes after both Lily and James in his skill with magic. He takes after you in his caution and cleverness in difficult situations. I have faith that if anyone could succeed at the trials awaiting the champions, it is our Harry._

_For reference:_

_Champion Viktor Krum: Durmstrang Institute, Bulgarian, Seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team_

_Champion Fleur Isabelle Delacour: Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, French, 1/4 Veela_

_Champion Cedric Diggory: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, English, Hufflepuff House_

_Champion Harry James Potter: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, English, Gryffindor House_

_I will answer any of your questions as best I can. You and Dudley are, of course, welcome to attend the viewing portions of the various tasks the champions will be competing in._

Petunia shows Dudley the letters when he gets home from school.

"That's not fair!" Dudley cries, banging his fist on the table. "Harry shouldn't have to do anything he doesn't want to! Especially if he didn't choose to be in this competition!" 

"I know, Sweetheart, I'll be sending letters to everyone in charge. I might have to go visit them in person, I'm not sure." 

Dudley grumbles and rips a page from one of his notebooks to begin writing to Harry. When Petunia returns to tell Dudley to set the table she sees that he has copied out the names and addresses of Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, drafting strongly-worded letters to them too. 

 

* * *

 

The parts of the tasks that involve audiences are confined to the weekends. So as to not disrupt classroom learning, apparently. Because Heaven forbid a potentially fatal competition interrupt class time. Remus collects Dudley and Petunia from Darlington and Apparates them to Hogsmeade. Petunia dry retches a little when they appear in Remus' small flat, her head feeling as though it is expanding and contracting and spinning all at the same time. Dudley is ashen, but his excited combination of anxiety and anticipation seems to bypass any magical motion sickness. Sirius greets them, dressed still in his pyjamas.

"Aren't you coming?" Dudley asks.

"I am indeed," Sirius grins. "Just not like this."

One moment, Sirius stands before them in his nightclothes, the next moment he is replaced by a large black dog with a supple, shiny coat. The dog grins at them just like Sirius.

"Oh my God."

"Come on, Mum, it's rude to stare." Dudley puts an arm around her shoulders (since when was he tall enough to do it quite so comfortably?) and they leave Remus' little apartment. 

As the family of one of the champions, the Evanses and Lupin and Dog sit in a viewing tower, with an aspect over the whole of the field. Contained within the boundaries formed by the spectator seating is a landscape of large boulders and rocky outcroppings. The stands are crowded already, humming with noise and magic. Petunia eyes the large castle providing the backdrop for the whole spectacle. That's where she lost Lily to every year, that's where she loses Harry to. 

Dragons. That's the challenge. Dragons. Fuck.

Petunia moans in distress and bunches her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers aggressively. Harry, her little Harry, is going to face a goddamn dragon. Sharp teeth lashing tail fire-breathing talons like steel. Dragon. 

"He's clever, he'll outsmart it." Remus murmurs though he's gone pale. Sirius-dog whines, his ears flattening against his head. 

The first in the arena is the Diggory boy, facing a silvery-blue creature. Dragon. Dudley leans forward and watches with rapt attention as the boy turns a rock into a dog to distract the dragon and then scrambles to retrieve a golden egg amongst a dozen normal (dragon) eggs. As Diggory grabs the egg, the dragon takes notice of him again and spews fire at the boy. In possession of the egg, Diggory has completed the first task and the dragon is sedated, though not without the boy receiving a burn to the side of his face. Petunia gasps raggedly as he stumbles out of the arena, grinning. 

The next two champions, Petunia watches without really registering what's happening aside from  _Dragon! Different Dragon._ The Bulgarian boy's dragon, stumbling due to its magically-induced blindness, breaks several of its own eggs without noticing. Her own babies, Petunia realises. She could weep, then and there, amongst the roaring crowd. 

When Harry emerges into the arena, Petunia stops hearing the crowd except as the faded wash of a powerful tide. Her Harry looks so tiny in comparison to the landscape around him, so tiny compared to the hulking black creature in the arena with him. Petunia is tiny, in an ocean of tiny people, all watching the boy face the beast. The dragon strains against its chain as Harry makes his way into view. He has to roll behind a boulder as the dragon spits fire at him, across the distance of the arena. With a powerful lunge, the creature snaps the chain keeping it contained. It weaves its face through the air, searching for her boy. Harry, still hiding, holds his hand before him. The gesture doesn't make sense until a broomstick rushes into view, settling in Harry's grip. The dragon spots Harry as he takes off, and it launches into a violent pursuit, its huge wings devouring the space between beast and boy. Petunia's terrified shrieks are lost in the sudden clamour of the crowd. 

At first, Harry and the dragon are visible, racing in tight, horribly elegant loops around the castle towers. Petunia grasps Dudley and Remus each roughly by the hand when the two disappear from sight. Several minutes pass, with only the horrendous screeching of the dragon audible in the distance over the crowd noise which has deviated from cheering to concerned muttering. She can't tell if it's the sound of a dragon happily eating her youngest son or the sound of a dragon being defeated by her youngest son. When Harry reappears as a shapeless blob in the sky, Petunia screams and points. The crowd rises with her and screams too. Her Harry tears through the sky, conducting a complex manoeuvre to collect the golden egg and dismount his broom a moment later. 

Petunia doesn't hear the tally announcement as she forces her way through the masses of people. Dudley and Remus follow her, Sirius-dog is somewhere in front, having an easier time moving around on all fours. When she reaches the tent for the champions, she bursts through and grabs Harry, pulling him close and pressing her face to the top of his head like she more often did when her boys were younger. He smells like ash and blood, but underneath it all, of Harry. Green willow like Lily, with his own brand of parchment and sunshine. When she eventually pulls away from Harry, she sees his blood on her shoulder. 

"Oh, God, what happened?!"

"It's okay Aunt Pet, it's actually a pretty shallow scratch that's just bleeding because I twisted my arm." Harry's voice is hoarse, but he smiles at her. His glasses are dirty. So is his face. Harry is covered in dirt and char. And blood.

"Where's the Horntail?" A rough-looking redheaded man asks Harry. His face falls.

"It broke its wing near the Divination Tower and then as I was escaping it, it fell into the viaduct." 

"Right, well, I don't blame you. Whoever decided to use unenchanted chains on a bloody Horntail was an absolute fool and you did well to keep it away from the crowds." The man claps Harry on the shoulder in a kindly, gruff way.

"Thanks Charlie." 

"Oi Wollesley, get a team out to the viaduct, see what we're dealing with: dead or injured?" Charlie marches off through the tent.

Petunia had been so afraid for Harry, she'd not once considered that the dragon might turn on the crowd, that they might all be at risk. That Harry had outmanoeuvred the creature to protect everyone in attendance. That he put himself at further risk to save others. Sirius-dog winds himself in a loose circle around their group, as though herding them together very slowly. Remus grasps Harry's shoulders tightly before pulling him close. Dudley, despite the small distance between them, almost manages to bowl his cousin over with the force of his hug. If any of them are crying at all, no one mentions it. 

 

* * *

 

Remus and Sirius come round for tea every couple of weeks. They lend Dudley books on Quidditch and dragons. They bring some kind of fanciful treat from Hogsmeade every time. Petunia experiments with recipes from the only cookbook she owns. Lily had given it to her shortly after Petunia had moved out of home. She avoids reading the inscription inside the cover because when she touches it, all she can see is the magical outline of Lily's corpse. 

The week before Christmas, Remus and Sirius bring a pumpkin pie and a large bottle of butterbeer. Petunia has made a roast pork loin that was on sale at the supermarket because it expires tomorrow. It smelled fine when she unwrapped it, and it's been cooking most of the day. Dudley answers the door cheerfully as Petunia pulls dinner out of the oven and covers it with foil to rest. 

After they eat, Remus and Sirius gift Dudley with a model diorama of a Quidditch pitch, complete with two tiny teams flying around. They explain it, and most of their words go over Petunia's head, but she watches fondly the enormous hand gestures Sirius uses, the gentle instructions from Remus who is never not a teacher, and the rapt attention Dudley pays the two wizards. Petunia gives each of them a thick, warm scarf, in bright crimson for Sirius and a muted mustard-yellow for Remus.

"Our present for you, Petunia, has to wait, unfortunately." Petunia doesn't mind, she isn't a child and anyway, seeing Dudley's face with his miniature Quidditch pitch is a gift in and of itself.

"When will you be bringing Harry home?"

"The twenty-seventh. Give him a day to recover after the Ball." Sirius grins.

 

* * *

 

It was horrendous, being surrounded by the anticipation of dates for the Yule Ball. The expectation, the heightened observation of other people, the constant potential for public embarrassment. Harry watches as his friends pair off, awkwardly and sometimes passionately. Harry is with Hermione when Viktor invites her to the Ball. Her face blossoms into a grin as she accepts. Viktor looks like he's been Stupefied by her smile, as he leaves. When they're alone again, Hermione squeals quietly (not very quietly).

"Oh my gosh, Harry!"

"I know."

"Harry!"

"I know!"

"I've got to find something to wear!"

"Already?"

Hermione sends him a disparaging glare, though there's no heat in it and her smile gives her away. She leaves him alone to his thoughts. 

Dean and Seamus are a given. Harry isn't even sure if they've asked each other, but everyone knows they'll be attending together. Cedric asks Cho. Neville invites Ginny. Lavender asks Ron. Fred asks Angelina by shouting it across the Gryffindor Common Room. She gives him her middle finger as she shouts back her agreement. Fleur asks Padma. Pansy asks Parvati. Harry sighs. 

A week later Harry invites Luna. In the corridor, between classes. He says it all as one word.

"What was that, Harry?" 

"Will you, uh, go to the Yule Ball with me?" 

"Oh that would be lovely."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

Right. So that's sorted. He tells Remus when they meet for tea. 

"She's a bright witch." Remus replies.

"Can you dance?" Sirius sticks his head into the room.

"Er..."

"Brilliant." Sirius rolls his eyes and disappears.

"I'm sure you'll be fine." Remus takes their mugs to the kitchen sink.

Sirius reappears with a mass of fabric draped over his arm. 

"What's that?" Harry asks, making no move from his seat.

"Dress robes!" Sirius holds them out from the hanger, letting them fall naturally from collar to hem. "They were mine from when I was about your age. I've got taller ones now."

"Why are they Slytherin colours?" Harry asks.

"Ugh, Black family politics, don't worry." Sirius gives the robes a shake and they turn crimson and gold. It's a horrifying, garish combination on the formal robes. 

"Um."

"Try them on, Harry." Remus suggests. Harry gives him a look of betrayal but takes the clothing and changes in the cramped bathroom.

Harry emerges, frowning and uncomfortable, plucking at his sleeves. He looks like some kind of mascot. Sirius laughs openly at him, while Remus struggles to suppress a smile. 

"Here." Remus presses the tip of his wand to Harry's sleeve. The robes tighten a little around his arms, loosen around the shoulders. His dress shirt does the same, his trousers taper a little at the ankles. The length of the robes drops a little, Harry is slightly taller than Sirius was at this age. As Harry shakes his arms out in his now quite comfortable, though still horrendously coloured robes, they continue to change. The bright red and gold bleed out, replaced by a gentle dusky grey. Various buttons and clasps turn silver and catch the light elegantly. "Much better." Remus steps back with a satisfied expression.

"Yeah, agreed." Harry brushes his hands down the front of his new dress robes. They're softer than silk, and warm enough he could probably go outside in them. 

"Only because you and Moony have no fashion sense." Sirius harrumphs. 

Remus attends the Yule Ball as a date of Professor McGonagall. He borrows Sirius' current dress robes, shrinking them to fit and looking very handsome. Harry sees him on the other side of the Great Hall while he waits for Luna. Hopefully she's remembered to come. He last saw her in the greenhouse, and if he wasn't so preoccupied with the Ball, they'd both be losing track of time amongst the plants. Harry has to dance. He can't even really dance along, let alone with a partner. This is going to be terrible.

Luna appears by his side with a gentle, "Hey, Harry!"

Harry turns to take her in. Luna is wearing a long silver dress that glimmers like water under all of the lights. Her long hair has been pinned up into gentle loops, fastened with little stars that glow. And she's wearing fuzzy green socks with no shoes. She looks lovely.

"How are you, Harry?" Luna asks.

"You look wonderful." He replies.

"How are you?" She repeats, giving him a surprisingly direct look. Harry realises then that the soft grey of his dress robes matches Luna's eyes perfectly.  _Remus_. 

"Um, good, good. I... good." He can't stop staring at Luna, and her incandescence. "I can't dance, though, so there's that."

"That's okay, Harry." She places her hand on his arm and Harry suddenly remembers his manners, taking her hand in the crook of his elbow. "We will survive a little dancing."

Harry feels like vomiting when the Champions Waltz is announced. The faces around him are all blurry and he's a little lightheaded. Luna somehow manages to lead him onto the floor while making it look like he's actually leading her. He stands before her, the other Champions and their dates nearby, surrounded by a ring of students and teachers. 

"It seems the others are holding each other for this dance." Luna observes, her hair twinkling as she moves her head. "Would you like to do that too, Harry, or something else?"

"Oh, er, probably that." He looks to the side to see how Viktor is holding Hermione. She flashes him a small, blissful smile. He puts his hands on Luna, copying Viktor's placement. Luna responds in kind. The music starts and Harry stumbles a little in the first step. "Sorry." He winces.

"It's all right, Harry," Luna smiles serenely up at him and guides him through the routine. She is featherlight on her feet, and though Harry feels unnatural, Luna's grace makes him look like a half-decent dancer. Her skirts and his robes flutter in the same direction as they perform the turns, like they're a single bird coiling in the air. By the time the music fades, Harry is a little puffed but moving easily with his partner. 

The next song starts up and the floor fills up with the other students, swaying to the music. Harry and Luna keep dancing, mostly involving Harry watching fondly as his date swirls and shimmies with her eyes closed. Remus and Professor McGonagall conduct a sweeping performance in the middle of the floor, which has students and teachers alike clapping at its conclusion. 

Harry dances a little more, sits while Luna dances even more than him, eats some of the surprisingly hearty finger foods on offer. Remus (embarrassingly) demands to take several photos of Harry and Luna. They pose as naturally as they can, though Harry has a niggling feeling that Remus probably managed to snap a few while he and Luna were dancing, too. At some point in the evening, several of the Durmstrang students form a line and begin a complicated, rhythmic performance. 

"Oh!" Luna exclaims, squeezing and releasing Harry's hand. Apparently they started holding hands and Harry is reluctant to let her go. "A Tropanka!" 

Luna joins the line of tall, broad Durmstrang students and seamlessly falls into step with their dancing. While her lack of shoes means she doesn't contribute to the visceral clack and thud of boots on the ground, she performs the foot movements as precisely as any of her companions. Harry would have fallen over before even starting, he knows. Luna is a glittering, graceful waif of a witch, flitting in and out of view as she dances joyfully. When Luna starts teaching the Durmstrang students the shape and rhythm of a Céili dance, Seamus drags Dean along to join in. 

At the end of the night, Harry walks Luna back to the Ravenclaw Tower. 

"What has a tail and a head, but no body?" The portrait asks.

"A Crumple-Horned Snorkack, of course!" Luna responds, pleased. The portrait grumbles at her but swings open.

"I had a lovely evening with you, Harry." Luna smiles at him.

"I did too."

Luna kisses him on the cheek and lopes into the Ravenclaw Common Room. The portrait swings shut.

"On your way, Potter." It commands.

Harry walks numbly back to his own dormitory, thinking about how it might be to receive a kiss from Luna not on the cheek.

 

* * *

 

Harry arrives with Remus and Sirius on the twenty-seventh. Petunia wraps him in a strong hug. Dudley joins in. 

"All right, it's come on." Sirius shepherds them out of the way. "More presents to give."

When they settle in the living room, Petunia gifts Harry with a scarf like the ones she'd given Remus and Sirius, only this one is a combination of the crimson and mustard yellow in alternating stripes.

"I love it, thank you Aunt Pet." Harry holds it to his chest. She'd given Dudley the same on Christmas Day, and received from her eldest son a lovely writing pen.

"So how come that colour combination is fine  _now_ , but not -" Sirius is cut off by Remus swatting his shoulder. 

"Our present for you is from the three of us." Harry says as Remus pulls a small bundle out of his coat.

Petunia carefully unwraps the paper holding two sets of photographs tied with twine. The first set are of Harry and Luna, the girl looking a fair bit older than the last time Petunia saw her. Luna is resplendent in a silver dress as she and Harry move around the dance floor. 

"The grey suits you." She murmurs to Harry. The next photo is of the two of them posing awkwardly in front of an ornate staircase. The next has Luna kicking her leg up alongside several tall boys all in dark colours. They all move from one foot to the other in perfect synchrony. "Is she... wearing socks?"

"Yes, apparently you told her the floors were infectious." Harry grins at Petunia. Lord.

"I told her she'd catch her death walking barefoot on cold flagstone."

The final image of the first group is taken from behind. Harry and Luna are sitting at a table, holding hands. As Petunia watches, they lean their heads into one another and laugh about something. Petunia would never admit it but things like Harry's near-death dragon-based experiences almost fade into the background of Petunia's mind when she sees him incandescently happy with a girl kind enough to show a Muggle how to get around Hogwarts. 

The second pile of photographs takes Petunia's breath away. Lily, in a sea-foam dress standing with a boy who looks almost exactly like Harry, only his dress robes are charcoal coloured. Lily, swirling through the couples, her dark red hair spilling over her shoulders. Lily hugging Remus tightly, his second- or third-hand robes clashing with her dress. Lily smiling and laughing just the same as Harry. 

"Pretty." Gnomey has appeared at Petunia's side and is staring at the photos.

"Pretty." Petunia agrees. 

 

* * *

 

The second task is almost worse than the first. After Harry eats something weird and dives into the water, the crowd sits and watches the surface of the lake ripple gently. Apparently, according to the golden egg, or something, they must retrieve something precious to them. A large clock hovers near the judge's tower. Sirius-dog whines. 

The girl, Fleur, bursts to the surface of the water, gasping. She paddles desperately to the judge's tower and drags herself onto the platform at the water surface. Her whole body is covered in fine scratches, enough of them to make her skin slippery with blood.

"Oh God, what's in the water?" Petunia cries. 

When the other Hogwarts boy clamours to the top of the lake, he's carrying another person with him. A drowned body? Is that what they have to collect? The crowd startles into a loud hum of muttering and questioning. When the boy reaches the platform and hoists the body up, it awakens, spitting out water and coughing violently. 

"They've suspended them in the water, they don't need to breathe under there." Remus deduces. 

The Durmstrang boy surfaces next, shaking his disturbing shark's head and clutching a girl. Harry is nowhere to be seen. As the clock continues to tick, the surface of the lake remains still. It reaches an hour. Passes an hour. Petunia thinks she might die from worry or jump into the lake herself. 

Harry appears and Petunia sobs in relief. He's towing two figures, both blonde. One is clearly Luna and the other Petunia guesses to be a relative of the Beauxbatons champion. He's also covered in small scratches, but propels hard through the water to get the two companions to safety.  _My brave boy, you are so good._  Lily and Petunia comment simultaneously. 

 

* * *

 

Correction: the third task is the worst of all. It's almost dark when the four champions are sent into a huge hedgemaze. Again, Petunia watches and waits. Fireworks shoot up twice from the core of the maze, and the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions are retrieved. They wait for Harry and Cedric for hours. Dudley, wearing his red and gold scarf, falls asleep on Remus' shoulder. Remus is wearing his scarf, and so is Sirius-dog, the knitted fabric looped around his neck like a collar. 

"Oh God, Mum look." Petunia hadn't noticed Dudley wake up but she follows the line of his pointed finger. 

Harry has appeared on his knees at the entrance to the maze, the Triwizard Cup glimmering beside him. He's holding Cedric to his chest and rocking back and forth. Petunia rushes out of the stands and to him as quickly as she can. By the time she reaches his side, Harry is surrounded by teachers. Cedric's father clutches both Harry and his own son to himself. Harry is sobbing, ugly loud noises. 

"He's back." Harry chokes out, refusing to let go of Cedric even as teachers try to loosen his hold. "Voldemort. He's back. He killed Cedric. He's back." 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fact the wollongong shimmy is misspelt as woollongong in 'quidditch through the ages' by kennilworthy whisp is a crime so i'm pretending it was spelled correctly the whole time


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cool cool cool cool cool cool cool here you go this is not happy this is not gentle this is not kind

Petunia takes pride in the fact that her boys are honest. She didn’t raise liars. When they were smaller, they would try and cover up broken things or muddy trousers. Harry would concoct elaborate tales, his eyes wide and earnestly green, his hands waving precociously. Until asked a direct question, when he’d blurt out the truth, seemingly as surprised as anyone else. Dudley would go quiet when he was trying to hide something, and he’d be incapable of making eye contact. Outside of the house was a slightly different case, as Petunia prioritised caution over the truth. But, she reasoned with them, other people might want to do them harm while Petunia would never hurt them. So no excuses for lies, boys! Usually a direct look and a strong pot of tea is all it takes for Petunia to unravel the truth from her sons.

Remus has always had a gently prompting way to ease the truth from Harry and Dudley. He makes it appear easy, as if the boys had the idea themselves to tell Remus exactly how they managed to break eight of Petunia’s terracotta pots.

After the godawful competition at Hogwarts, Harry has terrors almost every night. He wakes, often crying out, clutching his forehead. They make some adjustments. Dudley gets some earplugs. She encourages the boys to nap during the day, though they make the same disgruntled faces as they did when they were four and naps weren’t optional but required. Petunia keeps a neat pile of face towels by the bathroom sink. Now, when she hears Harry scream in the night she trusts Dudley to stay with him as she saturates the cloths with cold water and hurries to place them on his inevitably feverish skin. Sometimes, if they act before he’s truly woken, Harry will grab one of them and start rocking.

“Shh, love, it’s me,” Petunia brushes Harry’s damp hair off his forehead as he sobs into her shoulder. “It’s your Aunt Pet, Harry, shh.”

Harry goes limp, watches Petunia with tired eyes as she lays cold damp towels over his forehead, chest, shoulders. He blinks slowly at her, and they both know he’s saying, thank you. She kisses Dudley on the head as he settles back into his own bed. She turns the lamp off and leaves the boys’ door slightly ajar. She goes back to her own bed and lies awake until the comforting stretch of dawn beneath the curtains drags her back to sleep until she needs to leave for work.

 

* * *

 

 

Harry has been without night terrors for three nights in a row when Remus and Sirius next come for dinner. Their presence always lifts the spirits of the whole Evans-Potter household, though Harry has slowed down to a mild lope when he and Dudley go for runs (at Dudley’s insistence - an excuse to get his cousin into the fresh summer air). After the meal, Petunia sends the boys outside while she tidies and Sirius follows to listen to Dudley’s latest account of drama in his football team.

“I think he’s turned a corner. I hope he’s turned the corner.” Petunia murmurs to Remus as they stand at the kitchen sink overlooking the backyard. Harry is seated on the grass, reclining on his elbows, listening to Dudley and Sirius’ avid conversation. He looks like he’s somewhere else entirely, eyes flitting over invisible things in the distance.

“Their room smells like magic.” Remus responds gentle, staring out the window. “It’s a muffling charm of some kind. Only around Harry’s bed and it’s rather quieter than any equivalent I’ve encountered before.”

“What?”

“Harry has - possibly accidentally, possibly not - silenced the space around his bed so you cannot hear his nightmares.”

After Remus and Sirius Apparate home, Petunia calls the boys back inside. She directs them to sit at the dining table while she fills the kettle and sets it to boil. The mug with a chip in the handle is Petunia’s favourite. It’s a pretty jade green and the blemish in the ceramic has been smoothed by years of holding and washing and drinking. Dudley likes the biggest mug they have - with the name of a university none of them have or ever will attend stamped boldly across the side. Harry prefers a very medium sized mug that’s a lovely navy and covered in painted stars. It’s the only one left of a set from when Petunia’s parents married. Two teabags in the teapot and filled with boiling water, she comforts herself in the steady ritual of each of their preferences. No milk, half a sugar for Dudley. Milk, one sugar for Harry. Milk, no sugar for herself. Dudley likes his steeped the least, so his is poured first. Then her own. Then the pot sits as she carries those mugs to the table. Finally, she pours Harry’s as he likes the stronger tannins that Dudley wrinkles his nose at.

“You’ve still been having your nightmares, haven’t you, Harry?” Petunia asks over her steaming mug. Dudley looks over at Harry in surprise.

“But I’ve not heard you Harry!”

The boy tilts his face to the ceiling and swallows. His Adam’s apple twitches in his throat. _Since when did he get so grown up?_

“Yeah.” He mutters. “But I hate that I keep waking you guys.”

“There are better ways we could be handling this situation, though, Harry.” Petunia reaches out and rubs his shoulder. “Maybe we can organise for you to speak to someone.”

“Who? I can’t tell them anything - they’ll lock me up for being crazy!”

“We have to be careful, Mum,” Dudley agrees. They all pause to sip from their mugs.

“My colleague from the hospital, her sister is a psychologist…” Petunia drags a finger around the rim of her cup. “I’ve not mentioned anything about us, but from what I’ve heard, the sister has connections with some strange folk.” Dudley and Harry tilt their heads at her in exactly the same way. Petunia realises suddenly it’s the same way Sirius looks at her when he’s listening intently. Dog or man.

“Strange… like me?”

“Yes, strange like us.” Petunia wonders fleetingly if she would ever be able to capture a photo of the three of them tilting their heads at the same time. _James does it too_ , Lily informs Petunia in her head.

 

* * *

 

Petunia asks some careful, seemingly-nonchalant questions of her colleague Agniprava, who informs her that yes indeed her sister Agnimithra is a practicing psychologist.

“Is one of your boys having trouble at school?” Agniprava asks.

“Of sorts,” Petunia has to think quickly or risk seeming odd. “One of Harry’s friends from school… had an accident. He’s taken it hard.” Good enough answer, vague but not too distant. Agniprava makes a sympathetic noise.

“So tough for them at this age, even without extra stuff, hey?”

“Oh, yes.” Petunia nods and smiles just a little. “It’s tough.”

 

* * *

 

Harry is nervous of meeting Agnimithra, but he assures Aunt Petunia he’s okay to do this on his own. Agnimithra works at a small clinic in a former terrace house on a wealthier side of town than the Evans-Potter house. He’s sitting in a rather comfortable orange armchair in what was probably once a bedroom. There’s a nice wooden desk that’s definitely not made of pine, and an ergonomic office chair. There’s a sad-looking fern in an expensive-looking pot. Harry stares at it until the fronds perk and brighten.

Agnimithra (“please, call me Aggy!”) is tall and has a wide smile. Her long black hair is tied so that it spills in a straight line down her back. Harry thinks she looks professional, but also kind.

“So, Harry, your aunt told me just a few details on the phone about what you’re struggling with.” Aggy settles into her spine supporting chair. “A friend of yours - a friend from school - died recently in an accident?” Harry refrains from wincing at the description. It’s a lie they have to maintain because the murder of a Muggle boy would be on Muggle news and Cedric is, well, Cedric was -

“Yeah.” Harry scrapes his hand through his hair, pushing it off his face. Aggy’s gaze flicks up to his scar and then right back down to meet his eyes. Harry tucks both his hands under his legs, behind his knees.

“I’m sorry that has happened, Mr Potter.” Harry sucks in a surprised breath. Aunt Petunia signed everything as Harry Evan. Harry exists in the Muggle world only ever as Harry Evan. Should he try and leave? Would Agnimithra follow? Seeing the fear on his face, she lifts one of her hands placatingly. “Harry, my wife is a witch.”

“What?” Harry tilts his head at her. “Sorry, who?”

“You go to school with the Patil twins, yes?” Harry nods. “My wife is their aunt. I know who you are, I know the context of what happened at Hogwarts last year.”

“You know about the Tournament?”

“Yes, Harry.” Aggy smiles sorrowfully at him, though thankfully without pity. “We can speak freely if you’d like.”

So Harry tells the strange Muggle psychologist married to a witch about his nightmares. He tells her about the stinging searing aching pain in his scar. He tells her about not wanting to burden Aunt Pet and Dudley, who already do so much for him. He tells her about not fitting in at Hogwarts. He tells her about being uncomfortable with his wand, so closely related to a murder weapon. He tells her about his love for magic but his distrust of its institutions. He tells her about his fears for Remus (and Sirius just as “Remus’ partner”). He tells her about his fears for himself. How small they feel in comparison to everything else.

Aggy listens to him. She takes some notes. She maintains eye contact while he speaks, but Harry doesn’t find it uncomfortable. She doesn’t look at his scar again for the session. She doesn’t really give him any advice, but she takes in everything Harry says. She gives each of his words weight and consideration as she notes his thoughts. She listens to him.

“I think, Harry, it would be good if you visited twice a week until you go back to school.”

“Oh, I don’t think we can afford-“

“Nonsense.” Aggy waves her hand. “No charge for someone who is basically a family friend.”

“But…” _we don’t need charity_ , Harry almost says. Aunt Pet has always been too proud to take donations. But Harry isn’t.

“It’s sorted then.” Aggy consults the calendar built into her notebook. “How does Tuesday at two sound?”

“Yeah, um, sounds good.”

“Lovely. Oh, and Harry?” Aggy looks up as Harry starts to leave. “Thanks for giving the fern a little boost. I have not a green digit on either of my hands.”

 

* * *

 

Harry leaves for Hogwarts with a strength in his spine that makes Petunia proud. He comes home that Christmas with ugly, knotted scars across the backs of his hands.

“THAT BITCH!” Sirius and Petunia both howl. Sirius’ face twitches between dog and man and back again. He snarls with feral, canine teeth but speaks with a human mouth. Harry tries to pull his sleeves past his wrists but Dudley forces him to hold his hands out, palms down. Dudley’s eyes are cold as he reads Harry’s hands over and over. He’d somehow managed to keep the horrific injuries hidden during dinner, but Petunia had seen the fragile skin below her boy’s eyes and piled his plate full despite his protestations. But this? Fuck this.

“What lies?” Petunia cries. “You aren’t a liar!”

“Umbridge doesn’t believe Voldemort is back.”

“This is illegal!” Dudley yells, shaking Harry’s arms.

“She was put into Hogwarts by the Ministry - by the government.” Harry shakes his head. Legality has nothing to do with this.

Remus sits with Harry for hours that evening, unworking and reknitting the boy’s skin. Petunia sits next to Harry the whole time, curling her fingers together and wringing them in her lap.

“I’ve had the most practice with this kind of magic.” Remus smiles at Harry and the scars on his face twist.

 

**_i must not tell lies_ **

**_i must not_ ** _tell lies_

_i must_ **_not_ ** _tell lies_

_i must not tell lies_

 

Eventually the raised, angry words are reduced to pale lines barely legible in their cruelty. Exhausted, Harry falls asleep on Remus’ shoulder. Petunia covers them both in one of the living room throw blankets and ducks into the kitchen to see if she can scrounge some kind of sweet from the fridge and pantry’s combined efforts. At first she doesn’t understand the sweet, warm smell that embraces her when she steps into the kitchen. Then she sees the sticky date pudding on the table and Sirius and Dudley washing the dishes.

“Oh, boys.” Petunia almost has to sit down with the loveliness of it. She hasn’t had sticky date pudding since she lived at home with her parents. “Where’d you get this recipe?”

Sirius turns around and grins at Petunia. His hair has been tied into a ridiculous spray of curls at the top of his head and he’s wearing her apron. He has flour on his left eyebrow.

“Lily taught me.”

Petunia drops gracelessly into a chair that appears magically beneath her just as she needs it. 

 

* * *

 

Petunia knows something is wrong. She can feel it in her blood. She is unfocused at work, confused. When she gets home she sits at the small kitchen table and stares at the kettle but doesn’t move again until Dudley gets home.

She hears the door unlock. The swish of fabric. The solid thud of a sports bag. The loose clatter of cleats, tied together at the laces, hitting the ground. The shuffle as Dudley removes his coat, hangs it on the rack. The sigh as he shakes off the outside world, standing alone in the hallway for a moment.

When she sees him, Petunia knows her son is fine but that he also knows something is terribly amiss. Dudley’s eyes are bloodshot, his face drawn tight with worry. He presses a greeting kiss to her hair and moves to fill the kettle with water and sets it to boil. He adds a touch too much milk into her mug but Petunia hardly notices. The tea is hot and brings feeling back into her hands, her chest.

“What do you think has happened?”

“I don’t know, Mum.”

When Sowa arrives at the window late that night, they’re both still awake. Petunia sobs an ugly sound as she fumbles with the window latch. She tears the letter from the owl’s leg and Dudley scatters a few biscuits on the windowsill for the bird. It’s not from Harry. It’s not from Remus. It’s from Luna Lovegood.

 

_dear friends,_

_there was an attack at the ministry of magic. death eaters - lots of them. and voldemort too. a friend, padfoot, died there._

_all others have survived. h will be home soon._

_luna_

 

* * *

 

The war that violently stole Lily has resurfaced. Now it threatens them all. Agniprava stops showing up to work. When Petunia asks her boss he tells her she’d quit and moved away. Agnimithra tells Harry to “hide them!” in their last session before she, too, disappears. When strange men who clearly are not scouts start watching Dudley training with his team, Petunia writes to Remus.

Remus who has written to her only once after Sirius’ death. Remus who hasn’t come round for dinner since. Remus who missed Dudley and Harry’s birthday celebration for the first time since they met. Remus who… well. Petunia doesn’t expect a reply but she has no one else she can ask for advice. She and Dudley are both being watched, being slowly hunted. Petunia receives Remus’ reply within a day.

 

_Yes, tomorrow. Bring only what you care about._

_R_

 

That is how Petunia and Dudley move to Hogsmeade to live with Remus. Dudley withdraws from school and Petunia reinstates home teaching, though now it is unofficial. She doesn’t even quit her job - she just packs all their photos and sentimental items, their clothes and some toiletries, and they leave. Dudley helps cover the furniture with sheets, draws all the curtains closed. Petunia holds onto Gnomey, who wriggles in consternation. They can’t leave him here on his own. Petunia looks at the garden. Her garden and Harry’s garden. Dudley’s home field. She tucks Gnomey tightly in one arm and the kettle in the other. It’s a funny balance, but having raised two boys from infancy to near-adulthood she is well-versed in carrying bizarre things.

For once Petunia doesn’t give a fuck about how strange they must look to other people. She, her son, and their animate gnome have more important things to do.

 

* * *

 

Harry visits when he can. Petunia likes that she sees him more frequently now that they live within walking distance of each other. In his sixth year now, he has the enormous pressure of his education looming over him, and also a radical, violent terrorist who wants him dead. He brings them pumpkin pies from the Hogwarts kitchens, still warm when he puts them on the table. He falls asleep on the lumpy couch in the living room, often, and has to jog back to the castle of a morning.

Petunia knits for Hermione’s little group, using Gnomey as a model. She sends Harry back with armfuls of miniature hats and jumpers and socks. She knits throws and blankets for the little flat. Colour in the home seemed to have died with Sirius but Petunia is adamant that Remus needs a sunflower yellow tea cosy. To match his bright orange table runner and ultramarine crocheted coasters.

Dudley can’t play football anymore so he takes to following Quidditch. He reads everything he can about the history of the sport and the history of its games and players. One time when Dudley was reading a particularly riveting biography of some Seeker or other, Petunia watched him jerk his head and make to call out for Sirius to come read a particular paragraph. She watches him remember and the light dim in his eyes. She knits him some bookmarks in various national team colours. The greens for the Irish National Team aren’t quite right but Dudley tells her he loves it.

 

* * *

 

There is a battle, eventually. It is perhaps inevitable, a path both sides have approached since the birth of a prophecy and a boy. A boy who lived once. A boy who loved. A boy who would be a weapon, a strategy, a finale.

Petunia had never thought she would be in a battle. She’d never been in a physical fight aside from hitting Severus once when his snide comments had worn away all her patience when they were still children. And yet, here she is in a violent fight, where the warriors by her side are children themselves. Petunia is furious. Lily, in her head is furious.

She didn’t think battles would smell quite so bad. Rank with fear and sweat and blood, burnt ozone of dark magic. Her whole being lurches whenever she hears a child scream. She doesn’t know where Dudley or Harry are, and there’s a small boy crumpled against the wall next to her. He is dead. Petunia cries out in a strange kind of grief as the boy’s corpse loses its faculties. Urine seeps through the flagstones. You’ll catch your death on these floors. Is Luna still alive?

When the huge window above her shatters, Petunia can’t help but scream and cower. When she looks up Harry is standing before her. She’s seen him only a handful of times in the past year, so no one can blame her for hugging him in the middle of the war zone, can they? He’s thin and dirty and immeasurably sad, but his heart is beating and he is alive.

“You hurt?” He asks, trying to inspect her for injuries while being hugged.

“No.”

“Good.” He picks up a thick shard of glass before she can stop him, and wordlessly turns it into a wicked blade. He passes it to her, hilt first. Dudley finds them just as Harry stuns one of the masked men and Petunia cuts his body away from the mask.

“Oh, there you are Dudley!” Petunia gathers both her boys into a hug.

“Love you, Aunt Pet.” Harry murmurs. “Love you Duds.”

“Love you.”

“We love you.”

 

* * *

 

When Voldemort and his followers suddenly retreat, there is no relief. For they must gather the dead and the wounded. Petunia picks up the little blonde boy, his urine leaving his corpse wet and already cold. She carries him to the place they are putting the other dead children. She turns to find Dudley and sees him crouched over the body of dear Remus Lupin.

Their friend is barely intact, he’s been shredded by some kind of beast. Petunia runs her fingers over his face, tight with pain in his death. She tries to smooth his features, but his skin is unyielding. She chokes on her breath as her throat closes on itself. _Not Remus, not gentle Remus_. Lily’s voice speaks Petunia’s thoughts.

Remus who invited a tiny Dudley to join in on lessons with Harry because he saw the other boy was feeling left out. No matter if he’d never be able to practice magic. Remus who saw two of his best friends in Harry’s face but never let their memories shadow the boy. Remus who listened to others with his whole being. Remus who was kind beyond words. Remus who patched Dudley up after every rough football match while Sirius got in the way trying to listen to the boy’s recount of the game’s highlights. Remus who did not let his lycanthropy exclusively define him, even when it got him fired and derided and hated. Remus who loved Lily just as she was whenever she was however she was, the only person aside from Harry to simply love Lily without complication or conditions. Remus who loved Sirius even hollowed out from Azkaban and years of believing he’d been a murderer.

Oh, Sirius. Sirius who’d suffered for so long but still had room for love. Sirius who encouraged Dudley’s love for Quidditch as much as football. Sirius who sang ridiculous songs with the most beautiful tenor. Sirius who laughed with his whole body, like each time might be the last. Sirius who laid his dog body on Petunia’s feet when she was scared. Sirius who gave Harry his father through stories and jokes and photographs. Sirius who died protecting Harry, protecting all the children around him.

Petunia doesn’t know where Harry has disappeared to, so she and Dudley sit vigil with Remus. Petunia balances the magical knife across her knees.

The castle is full of crying, of shouts of pain, of dying breaths. Silences stretch in some places while noise fills others. The quiet of incommunicable grief and the ragged sounds of those desperately trying to remain alive.

 

* * *

 

The rhythmic pulse of marching pulls Petunia away from her friend’s corpse. The Death Eaters are returning to the castle, presumably to continue slaughtering children. Petunia hefts the blade in her hand. Then she sees Harry.

His long limbs droop. His neck hangs unnaturally. Voldemort is carrying Harry’s dead body. Petunia is deaf to everything but the sound of feet against stone, beating. Her boy is dead. The population of Hogwarts swells outward to meet their murderers. Petunia is carried with them.

Voldemort sets Harry on the ground. Her boy’s head tilts to face Petunia. His eyes are closed, his glasses gone. Harry, her boy. Baby on a doorstep, left so callously by the same people who led him to his death. A noise builds inside Petunia. In it, Lily screams. Remus howls. Sirius snarls.

Petunia cries out, her pain feral and hungry. She stumbles forward, barely noticed in her mundanity. Voldemort smiles. Petunia keeps moving forward, grief dragging forth a inhuman force of love and anger. Petunia lunges forward with the dagger Harry made for her. Over her boy’s dead body she kills Voldemort.

Voldemort, who desired to be a wizard above wizards, died a Muggle death at the hands of a Muggle woman from Darlington (originally Cokeworth). Petunia Evans killed the man who killed her family, her friends, her sister, her son. There is no war to be waged after the most powerful living wizard is taken to meet Death by the least magical woman in Britain. There are no more children to kill, no more families to torture. There are no more homes to ravage, no more bodies to bury. There are no more masks to wear, no more battles to fight.

 

* * *

 

The first time Petunia Evans returns to Godric’s Hollow after burying her sister and brother-in-law, it is to bury their son. Her son. Many magical faces linger around the town, in the graveyard. None approach her. They have already taken so much from Petunia Evans. Dudley Evans follows his mother, carries Gnomey in his arms. They found the animate gnome frozen, cheerfully inanimate, when they limped back to Remus’ flat.

The children of the battle are waiting in the graveyard. The ones who are left. They did not survive the war; none of them survived the war, not really. Harry Evans-Potter is waiting for them, too. His coffin is made of holly. The hole has been dug. Finally the boy who fought a war his whole life can rest.

It doesn’t take long. Harry is lowered into the ground, the earth is invited to swallow him. She does so graciously, as though she knows how he loved to cultivate beautiful things from her. The headstone has already been set. Dudley sets Gnomey against it, to stand watch. Luna Lovegood casts a protective charm over Gnomey and the stone and the grave, against any who would harm them. Hermione Granger adds another layer. Then the children disperse.

Petunia kneels and presses her head against the stone. She misses Harry so much already. His bright eyes and the full spectrum of his smiles some of them Lily some Remus some Sirius and some perhaps James. His hand on her shoulder. His sunny, dirty face after a day in the garden. His rampant sweet tooth. His chaotic bouquets of cut flowers all loud and lovely in the kitchen. The little huffs of his baby breathing when he was small. His chubby little fists, his scarred angular hands. His wayward hair. His capacity for love and kindness. Even when being used as a vessel for a fight that was not his own but a war he was born into, that he was prophecied to end, a life he wasn’t given a choice in. His laugh. Harry, who was the best of them all. The best of Lily, the best of James, the best of Petunia. The best of his friends, his teachers, of the magic and the mundane. The best of Remus, the best of Sirius, the best of Dudley.

 

Harry James Evans-Potter

31 July 1980 - 2 May 1998

This boy is loved.

 

* * *

 

Two days after they give Harry back to the earth, put him to rest between his parents, they bury another. No one lingers around the Godric’s Hollow graveyard when Petunia and Dudley put Remus Lupin into the ground. Sirius, having been disowned from the Black plot, had purchased the spaces around the Evans-Potter graves.

 

| Sirius | James | Harry | Lily | Remus |

 

Petunia and Dudley go home. They pull the sheets off the furniture. They vacuum and mop. They clean the windows, air out the house. They leave the garden for another day. Petunia puts the kettle on. She asks if Dudley would like a bigger bed, rather than the two singles in the room. It’s okay, we don’t need to decide today.

Petunia’s head is quiet. Lily doesn’t talk to her anymore, no one else has taken up residence. When Petunia finally puts her gloves on and steps out the back door, she’s the only one in her head. The garden is overgrown and unhappy. There’s a lot to do. But Harry’s little plot has not a single weed, not one slug, not even a withering flower. Petunia lets it be, then.

 

* * *

 

Someone who’d apparently had a death experience once told Harry that dying is kind of like being at the train station. It’s not the destination, it’s not even the place you really came from. It’s a funny liminal spot of waiting for one thing to end and another to begin.

When Harry seeks out Voldemort, he leaves his wand in Dudley’s back pocket. He doesn’t ever really need it, anyway. He’d rather face Voldemort just like his mother did: with nothing but love in her heart.

When Harry dies, the last thing he sees is thankfully not Voldemort’s face. The last thing he sees is the earth, suddenly at eye level. The dirt, the soil, the decay and life and the chaos of small and wonderful things.

Dying is not like a train station at all. Dying, as it turns out, is a lot like returning home.

Harry finds himself in a kitchen. The walls are a joyous shade of yellow and the drawings on the fridge move. He can hear music and laughter coming from outside. Just outside the back door. It sounds like a party.

“Oh, hello Harry.” Harry turns. It’s his mother. She smiles at him.

“Hi, hi Mum.”

“You’re so grown up.” She reaches forward and brushes the hair off his face. Her skin is warm. “I’ve missed you, Harry dear.”

The back door swings open and the noises of the party wash into the kitchen suddenly.

“Hey Lil, where’s the Turkish bread - oh Harry! You’re here!” James Potter brushes his wild hair off his face and grins.

“Where am I, Dad?” Harry asks as James properly enters the room and closes the door behind himself.

“You’re here!”

“Oh, okay.” Harry pauses. “Who else is here?”

“Well there’s my parents.” Lily places a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder.

“Mine too.” James cups the side of his son’s face. “Sirius.”

“And Remus just arrived, like you.”

“A Weasley boy as well.”

“Not just all strangers, Harry, but we’ll make introductions for you.” Lily’s eyes glisten with ready tears.

“And everyone will be so pleased to see you, Harry!” James closes their circle by wrapping an arm around Lily’s shoulders. It’s just the three of them, in a kitchen, with no one to hide from. No enemies, no fights, no wars, no fear, no suffering.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready.” Harry’s mum cries as she smiles. “You don’t have to go out there.”

Harry thinks about Aunt Pet and Dudley. Luna. Hermione and Ron and Ginny and Hagrid and Professor Sprout and McGonagall. Aggy and Gnomey. He thinks about a world more difficult than it was good. Where kindness lived at home and very few other places. He thinks of the life Dudley will be able to make for himself when he’s not hiding all the time. He thinks of Aunt Petunia’s grief, so deep and jagged. He thinks of Dudley getting a birthday all to himself. He thinks of his mug, empty in the cupboard. He thinks of dancing with Luna at the Yule Ball. Of holding her hand by the lake. He thinks of Gnomey playing hide-and-seek in the garden. He thinks of Hogwarts, the gaping wounds opened up within the castle walls. He thinks of his seedling tray in the greenhouse. He thinks of nights falling asleep to the sound of Dudley breathing. He thinks of the baby birds in the garden. He thinks of the family he was given, the family Aunt Petunia taught him he deserved. He thinks of a hard life made gentler by kindness and compassion. He thinks he’s ready.

“Hey Mum, Dad," Harry smiles at his parents. "Let's go outside.”


End file.
